LEONORA    OF    THE    YAWMISH 


Wove  I 


FRANCIS   DANA 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

1897 


Copyright,  1897,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  nynti  reserved. 


TO 

A.  F.  S. 

THE  ONE  CRITIC  OP  WHOM  THE  AUTHOR  STANDS 
DREADFULLY  IN  AWE,  AND  FOR  WHOSE  PLEASURE 
THIS  CHAIN  OF  FANCIES  IS  WOVEN,  THE  STORY  IS 

Hobfnjjli?  Uetncatett 


M604G92 


INTRODUCTION 


FAR  in  the  Northwest  stands  a  forest  whose  heavy 
shade  broods  over  many  thousand  square  miles  of 
plain  and  hill,  whose  rough  arches  and  massive  roofs 
are  pillared  011  trunks  that  are  towers  and  monu 
ments  of  dead  ages.  Only  a  few  years  ago  its  recesses 
were  unknown  to  men — sacred  places  where  Nature 
slept  in  her  strength  and  beauty,  unharassed  by  civ 
ilization,  unpolluted  by  the  touch  of  traffic,  alone  in 
solemn  peace  and  grandeur. 

Now  here  and  there  among  the  broken,  desecrated 
solitudes  may  be  heard  the  sound  of  axe  and  saw,  the 
harsh  blasphemy  of  striving  men,  the  plunging  of 
goaded  oxen  in  the  brush ;  while  every  day  some 
hundreds  of  the  moss-bearded  giants  bow  their  grand 
heads,  groan,  and  yield  up  the  life  of  centuries  with 
a  roar  and  a  thunderous  sound  of  crashing  limbs. 

Except  in  the  mountain  fastnesses  (where  the 
hunter  finds  enough  to  do  to  avoid  the  misfortune 
of  tumbling  downhill),  the  deer  may  no  longer  lie 
secure  ;  and  the  jolly  black  friar  of  the  woods,  the 
comfortable  bear,  no  longer  takes  his  simple,  inex- 


Vi  INTRODUCTION 

pensive  meal  of  berries  in  peace  and  quiet,  but  must 
keep  ear  and  eye  and  restless  muzzle  alert  for  the 
coming  of  unbidden  guests,  who  may  invite  them 
selves  and  bring  their  knives  and  forks  with  them. 

The  older  trout  of  the  mountain-streams  and  for 
est-girt  lakes  have  reason  to  complain  of  the  times, 
and  to  wonder  why  insects,  of  late  years,  have  such 
tough  hides,  sharp  stings,  and  long  tails  that  reach 
upward  into  space,  and  what  becomes  of  the  good 
fellows  who  disappear  so  suddenly  at  breakfast. 

The  sanctuary  is  broken,  and  the  voice  of  the  for 
est  is  sweet  and  sad,  as  fir  and  cedar  lean  one  to 
another,  sighing  with  fragrant  breath,  and  whisper 
softly  of  their  coming  fall. 

The  fairest  spots  of  the  wilderness  are  parcelled 
out  into  "  sections  "  and  "  quarter  -  sections  "  with 
geometrical  precision,  and  claimed  with  legal  formal 
ity  in  the  land-offices  ;  the  "  timber-cruisers  "  (scouts 
of  the  devastating  army  of  "loggers")  have  calcu 
lated  to  a  nicety  how  much  lumber  the  pillars  of 
Nature's  temple,  wherever  they  are  accessible,  will 
yield  to  the  saw. 

Where  the  streams  widen  and  deepen  as  they  near 
the  salt-water,  floating  logs  jostle  and  push  each  other 
between  the  banks,  as  a  drove  of  cattle  in  a  narrow 
lane,  on  their  way  to  the  towns  and  cities  that  have 
sprung  up  within  a  few  years  past  along  the  rainy 
shores  of  the  sound.  But  there  are  places  where,  for 
all  that  man  can  do,  the  woods  may  stand  forever 
and  add  to  their  time  future  ages  when  humanity 


INTRODUCTION  Vil 

may  be  as  dead  as  it  was  perhaps  unborn  when  the  sun 
shone  full  upon  their  mother-soil  and  the  first  tiny 
shoots  peeped  out  to  see  the  light. 

For  in  the  middle  of  the  forest,  between  the 
ocean,  the  sound,  and  the  strait,  Nature  has  her 
fortress  and  refuge — a  circle  of  frowning  mountain 
walls,  moated  by  canons  that  roar  from  the  depth  to 
the  height,  and  topped  with  battlements  of  sheer 
rock  or  gleaming  ice  and  snow,  where  she  may  laugh 
with  the  voice  of  the  upland  stream  at  the  march  of 
artificial  life,  and  where  man,  if  he  come  at  all,  shall 
come  as  a  guest,  not  as  a  master. 

The  passes  are  few  and  difficult,  and,  at  the  time 
of  which  I  write,  no  one  knew  what  lay  within  the 
forbidding  circle.  Although  among  the  white  set 
tlers,  who  were  fast  becoming  more  and  more  numer 
ous  in  the  forest,  there  were  plenty  eager  enough  to 
explore,  both  from  the  restless  curiosity  and  love  of 
adventure  that  belong  to  our  race  and  from  the  inva 
riable  assumption  that  gold  may  be  found  in  any  given 
wilderness  until  the  contrary  is  proven,  yet,  as  the 
passes  were  then  unknown,  and  as  the  mountain-sides 
between  the  rocky  perils  of  base  and  summit  presented 
mile  on  mile  of  precipitous  ascent,  shaggy  with  stiff, 
thick-set  brush  and  tangling  vine-maple,  and  strewn 
here  and  there  with  loose  rock  or  the  locked  branches 
and  piled -up  trunks  of  fallen  trees  that  storm  and 
avalanche  had  hurled  down  upon  the  slope,  and  were 
so  rendered  quite  impassable  even  to  the  most  sure 
footed  beasts  of  burden,  every  adventurer  who  had 


Viii  INTRODUCTION 

yet  attempted  the  expedition  had  failed  ;  finding  that 
he  could  travel  but  slowly,  that  the  mountains  were 
higher  than  they  looked,  that  three  miles  was  a  fair 
day's  march,  and  that  it  was  impossible  to  carry  pro 
visions  enough  to  last  the  journey  through. 

For  such  climbing,  with  a  heavy  pack  on  one's 
back,  greatly  stimulates  the  appetite,  and  the  temp 
tation  to  lighten  the  burden  and  assuage  the  cravings 
of  the  inner  explorer  by  the  one  simple  and  agreeable 
process  of  eating  is  hardly  to  be  resisted.  Game  is 
scarce  upon  the  outer  slopes  and  among  the  foot-hills, 
so  that  one  cannot  depend  on  his  rifle,  and  must  hus 
band  his  supplies. 

Those  who  had  tried,  however,  solaced  themselves 
for  their  defeat  and  endeavored  to  mend  their  repu 
tations  as  woodsmen  and  mountaineers  by  telling 
the  most  wonderful  tales  of  what  they  had  seen  and 
encountered;  of  the  marvellous  country  doubtless 
hidden  by  the  mountains ;  of  the  things  they  might 
have  accomplished  there  (but  for  the  stupidity  of  their 
comrades,  if  they  had  had  any,  or,  if  none,  the  lack  of 
them);  of  rich,  open  plains  where  the  deer  grazed  in 
vast  herds  ;  of  bison,  too ;  and  of  obliging  game  that 
sat  and  smiled,  and  might  have  been  shot  but  for  the 
pity  of  it;  of  great  lakes  with  remarkable  fish;  of 
masses  of  precious  metal  just  out  of  reach  :  and  some 
went  so  far  as  to  hint  darkly  at  discoveries  that  cor 
roborated  certain  Siwash  legends,  telling  of  wild 
voices  heard  laughing  and  singing  in  the  night  in  the 
woods  and  on  the  heights ;  of  smoke-wreaths  seen 


INTRODUCTION  IX 

rising  from  the  valleys,  or  tall  forms  gliding  among 
the  trees. 

While  the  people  of  the  region  gave  no  great  credit 
to  these  stories,  particularly  as  none  of  those  who  told 
them  seemed  in  any  hurry  to  revisit  the  delightful 
scenes  they  so  heartily  recommended  to  others,  still 
they  did  not  hesitate  to  repeat  them  freely,  with  such 
improvements  as  might  suggest  themselves,  so  that 
the  mountains  began  to  acquire  an  immense  reputa 
tion,  and  the  unsophisticated  son  of  the  East  who 
visited  those  parts  might  well  wonder  as  he  listened 
to  the  tales  of  the  "mossbacks,"*  and  grow  curious 
to  find  out  more  for  himself. 

The  aborigines  did  not  know  what  was  there,  for 
they  were  content  to  stay  by  the  coast  with  their 
canoes  and  nets,  or  farm  the  fertile  reservation-lands 
after  their  own  shiftless  and  primitive  fashion,  or  work 
for  the  whites  in  the  season  when  the  old  war-canoes 
are  brought  out  and  tribe  after  tribe  goes  up  the 
Dwamish  and  along  the  coast  to  the  hop-picking. 

It  has  always  been  enough  for  them  that  there  are 
clams  to  be  dug  on  the  tide-flats  and  salmon  to  be 
caught  in  bay  and  stream,  and  that  the  elk  come  down 
in  winter  to  huddle  together  in  herds  on  the  chilly 
lowlands  and  be  slain  and  salted  at  pleasure. 

Superstition,  moreover,  kept  them  out  of  the  moun 
tain  region,  for  they  had  a  legend,  invented  per 
haps  by  some  chief  of  former  days  as  an  excuse  for 
being  lazy  when  he  ought  to  have  been  adventurous — 
*  A  "  mossback  "  is  an  old  settler. 


X  INTRODUCTION 

a  story  of  a  mysterious  and  dreadful  race,  of  great 
stature,  fair  to  look  upon  but  terrible  to  meet  or  speak 
with,  abounding  in  wiles  and  mystic  lore  and  wizard's 
tricks — cruel,  dangerous,  unprincipled,  and  altogether 
the  worst  company  imaginable,  who  dwelt  in  the  un 
known  country  behind  the  heights,  and  would  let  no 
man  trespass  on  their  domains. 

If  the  modest  disinclination  to  intrude  where  they 
were  not  wanted  had  not  been  enough  to  keep  the 
coast  Indians  from  meddling  with  the  unknown  coun 
try,  it  is  likely  their  own  sluggish,  indolent  nature 
would  have  held  them  back ;  for  the  Siwash  is  entirely 
without  the  spirit  of  attack  that  is  so  strong  in  the 
Indian  of  the  plains,  and  his  peculiar  kind  of  heroism 
consists  in  passive  endurance  of  rain,  mud,  pestilence, 
and  a  diet  of  clams. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 


"We  are  no  other  than  a  moving  row 
Of  magic  shadow-shapes,  that  come  and  go 
Round  in  this  sun-illumined  lantern,  held 
In  midnight  by  the  master  of  the  show." 

—  OMAR  KHAYYAM. 

THOMAS  N.  MOORHEAD  was  living  in  enforced  idleness,  on 
hope  and  a  strong  constitution,  in  a  little  out-of-the-way  office 
in  a  busy  city. 

C.  NORMAN  MOORHEAD  was  hard  at  work  trying  to  amuse 
himself  here  and  there,  and  found  the  task  irksome. 

OLD  MR.  WILLOUGHBY  went  a-fishing  most  of  the  time,  and 
passed  the  other  available  hours  in  reading  all  kinds  of  books. 

MOLOCH  went  cheerfully  about  his  work  day  by  day,  and 
sang  and  whistled  a  great  deal,  after  the  manner  of  his  race. 

MRS.  NELLY  MEKIVALE  was  making  ducks  and  drakes  of  the 
late  lamented  Abner  Merivale's  hard  -  earned  dollars,  pounds, 
francs,  and  marks  abroad,  and  wondering  a  little,  now  and  then, 
what  should  be  done  when  these  were  gone  ;  but  the  matter 
did  not  trouble  her  much,  because  she  had  plans,  and  there  was 
just  enough  uncertainty  to  please  her. 

MRS.  BRADLEE  was  very  comfortable  at  home,  minding  her 
own  business,  which  was  that  of  finding  out  about  other  peo 
ple's  affairs  and  arranging  them  for  their  good  and  to  her  own 
satisfaction.  Sometimes  the  other  people  were  grateful — some 
times  not.  In  either  case  she  felt  that  she  had  done  her  duty 
by  them,  and  was  glad. 


Xii  DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

And  LEONORA — Leonora  reigned  in  her  own  realm  supreme. 
When  it  was  invaded,  the  invader  became  her  captive.  When 
she  in  turn  was  Ic-d  into  captivity,  it  was  only  to  extend  her 
empire. 

These  seven  played  a  play  together  upon  the  Great  Stage, 
and  none  knew  whether  it  was  Comedy  or  Tragedy  till  the  end. 

There  were  others  also,  but  theirs  were  minor  parts,  and  only 
incidental, 


LEONOEA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 


IN  the  heart  of  the  Northwestern  forest,  where  a 
river  runs  between  the  foot-hills  of  the  Olympics  and 
a  bold  outstanding  spur  of  the  outer  range,  on  an 
evening  in  early  June,  when  the  eternal  twilight  of 
the  woodland  was  de'eperiirig  into  night  and  the 
shade  that  lurks  all  day  in  the  sombre  foliage  seemed 
to  be  stealing  down,  fold  on  fold,  to  the  earth  below 
and  veiling  every  object  in  blackness,  a  cougar,  much 
at  a  loss  for  guiding  precedent,  lay  crouching  on  the 
trunk  of  a  fallen  treb,  watching  two  figures  that 
moved  to  and  fro  in  the  dusk,  some  fifty  yards  away, 
and  trying  to  decide  whether  they,  or  either  of  them, 
would  be  of  any  use  to  him  personally,  and  whether, 
in  any  case,  he  had  better  experiment  upon  them  or 
let  them  alone. 

He  had  begun  to  incline  to  the  former  opinion, 
and  his  lithe  body  was  already  swaying  to  and  fro  as 
he  felt  his  strength  and  shortened  his  muscles  for  a 
spring,  when  suddenly  there  was  a  slight  crackling 
sound,  and  he  waited. 

The  noise  grew,  and  a  red  glare  arose  from  the 
i 


2  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

earth  and  blazed  upward  in  a  way  that  made  the 
shadows  of  the  night  draw  back  and  sway  and  waver 
round  it  and  the  waters  of  the  stream  beyond  it 
gleam  darkly  and  flash  as  they  sped  by. 

The  wary  beast,  who  had  never  in  his  life  seen 
anything  of  the  kind  before,  felt  that  the  matter  was 
by  no  means  in  his  way— that  the  two  creatures 
were  strange  food  —  unwholesome  —  inadmissible. 
He  withdrew  very  softly  and  sought  a  more  conven 
tional  supper  of  the  mountain-beaver  *  that  dwell  in 
their  villages  on  the  slopes. 

The  two  men  busied  themselves  in  making  camp, 
cutting  the  tops  from  young  hemlocks  with  their 
hunting-knives,  strewing  the  tender,  fragrant  twigs 
thick  on  the  ground  for  bedding,  and  gathering  fire 
wood  to  last  out  the  night,  which  in  that  deep  river- 
bottom  between  the  hills  was  cool  and  fresh  with  the 
breeze  that  came  sighing  down  from  a  range  whose 
late  snows  still  defied  the  summer  sun. 

They  unrolled  their  blankets  and  spread  them  over 
the  twigs,  and  from  the  stores  that  had  been  rolled 
up  in  them  made  supper— one  gigantic  biscuit,  big 
enough  to  do  justice  to  the  wants  of  two  hungry  men, 
a  delicious  fry  of  bacon,  some  sauce  of  dried  apples,  and 
a  can  of  strong  coffee — and,  reclining  on  their  blankets, 
fell  to  and  ate  each  from  a  tin  plate  :  the  one  with  his 
fingers,  the  other  with  a  knife  and  fork  which  he  took 
from  a  Russia-leather  case ;  the  one  in  zealous  gulps, 
the  other  with  disdainful  nose  but  hearty  appetite. 

*Not  a  beaver  at  all,  but  a  kind  of  marmot,  larger  than  a 
woodchuck,  and  not  unlike  the  prairie-dog  in  habits.  One  of 
their  villages  sometimes  riddles  a  whole  mountain  side  with 
holes. 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII  3 

The  nicTii  who  ate  with  his  fingers  was  a  short,  ban 
dy-legged  fellow,  with  a  heavy,  impassive  face  of  rare 
ugliness. 

When  he  had  eaten  he  squatted  immovable  by  the 
fire,  so  silent,  so  stolid,  and  so  still  that  he  looked 
for  all  the  world  like  some  quaint  idol  carved  in  dull 
brown  wood  and  clad  by  some  irreverent  hand  in  a 
queer  array  of  ill-fitting  old  clothes. 

He  was  a  "Siwash"*  of  ordinary  type. 

The  other  man  gathered  up  the  dishes  and  went  to 
the  stream.  He  did  not  care  to  intrust  the  respon 
sibility  of  washing  to  the  Indian,  to  whom  that  science 
seemed  an  utter  mystery. 

When  he  had  returned  and  laid  the  dishes  in  a  row 
along  a  mossy  log,  he  flung  himself  on  his  blanket, 
and,  taking  a  brier-wood  pipe  from  his  pocket,  began 
to  smoke,  lying  with  his  head  pillowed  on  one  arm 
and  his  legs  stretched  out  towards  the  blaze. 

He  was  a  tall  fellow,  of  graceful  proportions,  clad 
in  a  rough  gray  suit  of  fashionable  cut,  and  encased 
at  one  extremity  in  a  gray  cap  with  a  visor,  at  the 
other  in  tall  boots  of  russet  leather,  laced  at  the  ankle 
and  the  side  of  the  knee. 

His  name  was  Moorhead.  He  was  a  man  of  leisure. 
He  had  come  into  the  forest  for  his  own  amusement, 
which  had  been  a  great  mistake  on  his  part,  and  had 
employed  the  Siwash  as  a  guide,  which  soon  proved 
to  be  another. 

For  a  long  time  the  two  were  silent.  The  firelight 
seemed  to  have  hollowed  out  a  room  in  the  mass  of 
darkness. 

*  "Siwash"  is  the  Indian  attempt  at  "savage,"  and  is  ap 
plied  to  all  the  Pacific  coast  Indians. 


4  LEONORA   OF   THE    YAWMISII 

One  tree  made  a  central  pillar — those  nearest  about 
it  and  the  black  shade  around  them  were  the  walls,, 
beautiful  with  tracery  of  fern,  graceful  sprays  of 
evergreen,  festoons  of  creeping  plants,  tapestry  of 
hanging  moss. 

Neither  of  the  two  men  noticed  the  loveliness  of 
the  place.  The  Si  wash  gazed  blankly  at  the  fire  ; 
the  other  lay  smoking  arid  contemplating  his  russet 
boots,  lifting  his  eyes  now  and  then  with  an  uneasy 
glance  at  his  guide,  who  seemed  to  occupy  his  thoughts 
not  altogether  agreeably. 

He  had  reason  to  be  troubled,  for  the  guide,  as 
such,  was  a  failure.  The  fitness  of  things  had  seemed, 
to  Moorhead,  to  demand  an  Indian  guide.  He  liked 
the  idea,  and  the  Siwash  are  harmless  and  have  a  repu 
tation  for  docility. 

He  had  been  so  far  governed  by  prudence  as  to 
select  one  that  could  understand  a  reasonable  amount 
of  English,  and  for  the  first  few  days  had  found  him 
intelligent  and  willing.  But  from  the  time  when 
they  had  left  the  Sound  and  entered  the  great  forest 
the  linguistic  powers  of  the  guide  had  been  gradually 
on  the  wane,  and  now,  at  the  foot-hills  of  the  Olympics, 
he  positively  refused  to  understand  any  English  at  all. 

"To-morrow,"  Moorhead  had  said,  "we  ought  to 
come  to  the  mountains." 

"Halo  kurntux  Boston  wawa,"*  had  been  the  calm 
reply. 

This  was  the  more  irritating  as  Moorhead  knew 
that  the  sudden  ignorance  of  tongues  proceeded  from 
unwillingness  to  carry  out  his  own  plans.  He  had 

*  "  No  know  American  talk." 


LEONORA   OF   THE    YAWMISII  0 

told  the  Siwash,  at  starting,  what  he  meant  to  do, 
and  that  worthy  had  assented  cheerfully.  Now  he 
obstinately  refused,  and  Moorhead  did  not  know  why. 
Any  inhabitant  of  the  Puget  Sound  region  could  have 
told  him,  if  he  had  asked,  and  then  he  would  have 
hired  some  one  who  was  not  an  Indian.  But  he  was 
one  of  those  gifted  persons  who  take  it  for  granted 
that  they  know  what  to  do  better  than  any  one  can 
tell  them  and  who  do  not  talk  freely  with  comparative 
strangers,  so  he  had  not  asked  advice. 

His  object  was  to  go  over  into  the  unexplored 
country  behind  the  outer  range  of  the  Olympics,  a 
thing  which,  be  it  from  laziness  or  from  superstition, 
or  both,  no  Indian  will  do. 

Now,  by  mischance,  Moorhead  could  have  found 
few  Indians  lazier  and  none  more  superstitious  than 
this  guide  of  his,  and  this  was  why,  when  the  foot 
hills  were  before  them,  the  unhappy  creature  refused 
to  go  farther. 

Moorhead's  heart  was  set  upon  the  expedition. 
When  he  found  English  of  no  avail,  he  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  little  blue  book  and  began  to  study  it 
intently. 

The  Siwash  smiled. 

Presently  Moorhead  looked  up  and  spoke  in  a 
strange  tongue  in  which  bad  English,  bad  French, 
and  bad  Indian  are  blended  in  awful  discord.* 

The  words,  though  spoken  haltingly,  were  in  the 
young  man's  most  persuasive  tone ;  but  the  Siwash 
only  shook  his  head  and  lapsed  into  his  usual  stolidity. 

*  Chinook,  the  common  language  by  which  the  many  Coast 
tribes,  whose  proper  tongues  are  Babel,  converse  with  each  other 
and  with  the  whites. 


6  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

The  argument  went  on.  Before  each  fervent  ap 
peal  Moorhead  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  his 
blue  book,  a  glossary  of  the  Chinook  jargon  compiled 
by  a  missionary,  and  largely  used  by  the  whites  in  their 
dealings  with  the  Siwash.  The  guide  answered  only 
by  negative  gesture  and  grunts  of  disapproval. 

Having  exhausted  in  vain  all  the  persuasive  phrases 
he  could  find  in  his  glossary,  Moorhead  took  from  his 
pocket  a  flask,  and  poured  some  of  its  contents  into 
a  tin  cup. 

The  dark  eyes  of  his  companion  glittered  with  a 
wistful  light.  Moorhead,  smiling,  passed  him  the 
cup,  in  the  hope  that  the  mellowing  influence  of  the 
mixture  might  bring  him  to  a  more  compliant  state 
of  mind. 

The  Siwash  are  poor  bottle-men,*  and  cannot  sit 
decorously  over  their  wine  or  spirits,  but  are  prone 
to  give  way  suddenly,  under  the  spell,  to  extravagant 
behavior.  This  one  swallowed  the  liquor  in  one  great 
gulp,  and  held  out  the  cup  for  more,  after  which  he 
soon  became  talkative  and  garrulous,  gabbling  so  fast 
that  all  effort  to  stem  the  torrent  of  his  words  was 
unavailing;  nor  was  it  possible  by  the  most  energetic 
use  of  the  little  blue  book  to  find  out  what  he  meant. 

Moorhead  turned  away  in  disgust,  and  took  no  more 
heed  of  the  poor  fellow's  ravings  till  a  sudden  silence 
called  his  attention.  The  fire,  neglected  during  the 

*  The  Coast  Indian  is  singularly  susceptible  to  alcoholic  in 
fluence.  The  effect  is  sudden.  From  a  stolid,  placid  creature 
of  amiable  temper  he  becomes  a  jabbering  idiot  or  howling  ma 
niac,  as  the  case  may  be.  Even  then,  however,  he  seldom  at 
tacks  a  white  man,  but  employs  his  newly  acquired  energy  in 
quarrelling  with  his  brethren  or  in  mere  vocal  atrocities. 


LEONORA  OP   THE   YAWMISII 


altercation,  was  burning  low,  and  darkness  hung  close 
about  the  embers. 

Moorhead  could  just  make  out  the  form  of  the 
Indian,  dim  against  the  black  background,,  and  see 
the  glint  of  his  eyes.  He  saw  that  he  was  trembling 
all  over  and  pointing  across  the  fire  towards  the 
water.  As  he  leaned  closer  to  the  embers,  his  face 
showed  like  a  vision  in  a  nightmare ;  the  dark-brown 
skin  had  a  dingy  pallor,  and  the  staring  eyes  showed 
white  above  and  below.  He  muttered  to  himself  in 
his  native  tongue,  and  held  out  his  shaking  palms 
with  the  half  imploring,  half -forbidding  gesture  with 
which  actors  greet  ghosts  upon  the  stage.  "  What's 
the  matter  ?"  said  Moorhead,  in  a  hurried  whisper, 
and  trembling  in  turn,  for  he  was  not  a  particularly 
brave  man  himself,  and  had  caught  some  of  the  hor 
ror  from  his  companion's  face. 

The  Siwash  had  forgotten  not  to  understand. 
" Hiyu  kanim — hiyu  skookum  tamahnawis  !"*  said  he, 
whispering  too. 

Moorhead  knew  these  words,  and  was  instantly  re 
lieved.  He  had  thought  it  might  be  a  bear  at  the 
very  least,  and  it  was  nothing  but  ghosts. 

He  looked  towards  the  river,  and,  seeing  only  the 
occasional  gleam  of  the  water  as  it  caught  the  reflec 
tion  of  the  dying  fire,  laughed  angrily.  The  stream 
was  too  small  for  canoes.  "  You  infernal  fool,"  said 
he,  "  shut  up  and  stop  your  nonsense.  There's  noth 
ing  there." 

The  Indian  gabbled. 

"I  shall  let  him  know  my  opinion  of  him,"  said 

*  "  Plenty  canoe— plenty  mighty  spirit !" 


LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISH 


Moorliead.  He  threw  a  log  on  the  fire,  stirred  up  the 
embers,  and,  as  the  blaze  sprang  up,  took  his  glossary 
and  proceeded  to  copy  out  a  not  inconsiderable  part 
of  its  contents. 

The  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  who  first  compiled  the 
Chinook  jargon  for  the  purpose  of  holding  such  com 
munication  with  the  Indians  as  was  needful  for  the 
uses  of  trade,  doubtless  perceived  that  occasion  might 
arise  when  it  would  be  convenient  to  bestow  terms  of 
reproach  and  obloquy  upon  their  dusky  acquaintances. 
At  all  events,  Chinook  is  not  lacking  in  choice  invec 
tives  culled  from  its  several  sources. 

Moorliead  collected  as  many  of  these  as  he  could 
find,  and,  when  the  Siwash  had  regained  his  com 
posure,  read  fluently  from  his  note -book  a  sound 
philippic.  The  Indian  made  no  reply,  and  showed 
no  sign  of  interest,  but  presently  rolled  himself  in  his 
blanket.  Moorliead  followed  his  example,  and,  wearied 
with  a  long  day  on  the  trail  and  the  unwonted  exer 
cise  of  carrying  a  pack,  was  soon  asleep. 

Late  in  the  night  as  the  fire  flickered  and  died 
away,  the  Indian  rose  and  sat  brooding  in  the  dim 
light,  watching  the  young  man's  slumbers  with  hate 
ful  eyes  like  some  ugly  demon  come  out  of  the  night 
to  do  him  harm  in  the  hour  of  helplessness. 

But  the  Coast  Indian  is  not  sanguinary — he  fears 
strife  and  white  men,  even  asleep,  so  that  Moorliead 
was  safe  enough  from  all  peril  of  life  and  limb. 

Only  that  when  he  awoke,  next  morning,  he  found 
himself  bereft  of  his  rifle,  provisions,  every  portable 
thing  that  he  had  had,  except  what  was  on  his  person 
— alone,  without  food  or  arms,  utterly  deserted  in  a 
pathless  wilderness  unknown  to  him. 


II 


MOORHEAD  awoke  and  was  afraid.  There  was 
nothing  frightful  in  the  scene  about  him,  where  the 
gracious  loveliness  of  the  woodland  summer  greeted 
every  sense  with  pleasure. 

The  night -breeze  had  flown  away  on  its  chilly 
wings,  and  now  the  air  was  warm  and  still,  rich  with 
the  drowsy  fragrance  of  cedar  and  balsam. 

The  soft  forest  twilight  was  broken  here  and  there 
by  gleams  of  sunshine  that  found  their  way  in  be 
tween  the  leaves  and  shone  on  the  flashing  water,  on 
the  thick  warm  masses  of  the  moss  that  clothed  the 
trees  and  on  the  ferns  that  grew  in  it  and  hung  in 
feathery  grace  from  the  branches  a  hundred  feet  over 
head. 

The  stream  by  which  they  had  camped  came  down 
the  mountain  with  a  tinkling  sound,  and  its  rapids 
far  below  gave  back  a  pleasant  murmur.  The  morning- 
song  of  a  wood -robin  or  two  fell  faintly  from  the 
tops. 

But  the  ugly  scene  of  the  night  before — the  horrid 
face  of  the  frightened,  crazed  Indian,  with  his  grue 
some  fancies,  the  desolation,  and  the  darkness — still 
lingered  in  his  mind,  and  he  had  a  feeling  that  some 
thing  was  wrong. 

He  sat  up  and  found  that  he  was  alone.  "  That 
miserable  imp  has  been  playing  me  a  trick,  perhaps," 


10  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

he  said,  and  called  out,  " John  !"  "John  !"  came  the 
echo,  short  and  sharp,  from  the  near  distance,  and 
"John  \"  from  the  mountain-side  not  far  away.  All 
along  the  range  of  foot-hills  the  word  "John!"  was 
passed  along  from  top  to  top ;  and  when  for  a  moment 
silence  had  come  a  belated  echo  fell  back  from  the 
upper  rocks  far  overhead,  like  a  voice  from  the  sky. 

But  "John,"  if  he  heard,  did  not  answer,  and 
Moorhead,  seeing  that  the  camping  outfit  had  van 
ished  with  him,  did  not  trouble  the  echoes  again. 
For  more  than  two  hours  he  hunted  in  every  direc 
tion  for  some  trace  of  the  deserter,  but  there  was 
none  that  his  unpractised  eye  could  see.  As  well 
track  a  fish  in  the  ocean  as  a  Siwash  in  those  dim 
leagues  of  verdure. 

He  looked  carefully  about  the  ground  to  see  what 
the  Indian  had  left  behind  in  the  way  of  personal 
property.  Only  the  blankets  on  which  he  himself 
had  lain,  the  clothes  in  which  he  had  slept,  and  the 
contents  of  their  pockets. 

The  discovery  that  there  was  nothing  to  eat  made 
him  hungry  at  once. 

Happily  he  had  in  his  pocket  a  fishing-line  with 
a  single  hook  attached  to  it,  and  in  searching  about 
the  banks  of  the  stream  had  seen  fish  darting  in  the 
water. 

He  cut  a  vine -maple  shoot  for  a  rod  and  went 
a-fishing.  When  he  reached  the  pool  where  he  had 
seen  the  fish  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  no  bait. 
He  sharpened  a  stick  and  dug  in  the  ground — there 
were  no  worms.  He  scraped  the  moss  from  dead 
wood — there  were  no  grubs. 

Apparently  fishing  was  out  of  the  question.     He 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII  11 

threw  himself  down  on  the  ground,  after  a  long  search, 
tired  and  hopeless.  Presently  a  yellow-jacket  came 
buzzing  about  him.  He  drove  it  away,  and  then 
remembered  with  sorrow  that  it  might  have  done  for 
bait.  Perhaps  it  would  return.  At  last,  after  many 
attempts,  he  struck  it  with  his  cap,  was  stung  in  the 
thumb  while  putting  it  on  his  hook,  and  cast  it  into 
the  stream. 

He  was  no  fisherman,  but,  luckily  for  him,  the  trout 
of  those  parts,  being  rustic,  unsophisticated  trout, 
did  not  perceive  his  mistakes  in  the  gentle  craft  and 
came  to  his  lure.  A  great  patriarch  of  the  stream 
came  with  a  swirl,  took  the  hook  bravely,  felt  the  prick, 
and  with  an  angry  rush  darted  close  to  the  opposite 
bank,  swung  round  a  projecting  root,  and,  having 
twisted  the  line  tight  about  it,  wrenched  himself  away 
and  sped  into  the  darkness  under  a  shelving  rock. 

The  smaller  fish  scattered  in  the  struggle,  the  pool 
was  calm  again,  and  in  the  clear  green  water  Moor- 
head  could  see  the  hook,  his  only  "lawful  and  visible 
means  of  support,"  hanging  to  the  snag.  He  could 
not  afford  to' lose  it ;  so  in  he  went,  and,  after  no  lit 
tle  splashing  and  disturbance,  recovered  it,  and  came 
shivering  out  of  the  icy  water. 

No  more  trout  would  bite  in  that  pool,  and  after 
another  hunt  for  bait  and  a  great  deal  of  fishing  in 
unfavorable  places  he  sat  down,  lighted  a  fire — for, 
happily,  he  had  a  few  matches  left — and  cooked  two 
of  the  three  fish  he  had  caught,  thinking  meanwhile 
what  course  to  adopt. 

It  certainly  was  not  wise  to  spend  any  more  time 
in  so  unprofitable  a  place,  and  he  determined  to  set 
out  at  once.  The  only  question  was,  whither  ? 


12  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

He  had  no  idea  from  what  direction  he  had  come, 
nor  how  to  find  his  way.  When  he  had  finished  his 
meal  he  strapped  his  blanket  on  his  back,  put  his 
one  trout  in  his  pocket,  crossed  the  stream,  and 
started  right  up  the  mountain-side,  in  hopes  of  seeing 
from  the  top  some  familiar  landmark  in  the  distance 
from  which  he  might  take  his  bearings.  This  done, 
he  meant  to  come  down  to  the  same  place,  fish  in  the 
pool  with  better  success,  and  take  the  nearest  way 
out  of  the  forest. 

This  plan,  though  wholly  impracticable  because  he 
had  no  compass,  seemed  feasible  enough  to  him,  and 
served  to  cheer  him  and  keep  his  mind  from  the 
dangers  popularly  supposed  to  surround  a  lonely  man 
in  a  wilderness,  particularly  that  of  being  starved  and 
that  of  going  to  keep  some  other  creature  from  starv 
ing. 

The  very  act  of  climbing  gave  him  enough  to  think 
about  for  the  time  being.  He  had  the  right  to  con 
sider  himself  a  tried  mountaineer,  having  been  up  the 
proper  mountains  abroad  in  the  regular  way,  and  had 
the  names  of  his  victims  branded  on  an  alpenstock 
which  held  a  conspicuous  place  in  his  comfortable 
rooms  at  home.  For  a  while  he  wished  he  had 
brought  his  alpenstock,  for  at  first  he  travelled  eas 
ily  enough  except  for  the  thick  growth  of  salal, 
with  slippery  leaves  and  tough  twigs,  that  stood  knee- 
high  on  the  slope.  But  soon  he  was  glad  that  he  had 
left  that  useful  implement  behind,  for  it  would  have 
been  only  too  much  of  an  encumbrance. 

The  ascent  became  gradually  and  almost  imper 
ceptibly  steeper,  till,  stopping  for  breath,  lie  began  to 
notice  that  he  was  holding  on  hard  by  the  bushes 


LEONORA  OF   THE   YAWMISII  13 

with  both  hands  and  digging  his  heels  into  the  ground 
at  every  step,  with  the  sides  of  his  feet  turned  towards 
the  earth. 

He  took  a  realizing  sense  of  his  position  and  for  the 
first  time  looked  behind  him.  He  was  no  longer 
walking  up  a  steep  slope,  but  climbing  a  nearly  ver 
tical  wall. 

Below,  as  far  as  the  timber  would  allow  him  to  see, 
was  an  almost  sheer  descent  falling  between  the  state 
ly,  solemn  rows  of  trees,  whose  mighty  roots,  grasp 
ing  the  earth,  held  them  upright  even  there — falling 
away  into  dim  obscurity  of  still  foliage.  Above,  for 
several  hundred  yards,  a  still  more  upright  mass 
covered  with  the  same  growth  ;  beyond,  a  cessation 
of  objects  and  a  glimpse  of  sky  through  the  gap  left 
by  a  fallen  tree  that  now  hung  head  downward,  with 
its  roots  entangled  among  the  tops  of  its  brethren. 

"There,"  said  Moorhead,  beholding  the  sky-line 
and  falling  a  victim  to  the  usual  delusion  of  those 
who  climb  in  the  woods,  "must  be  the  top  !" 

He  scrambled  up  and  arrived,  panting,  at  the  gap, 
only  to  see  that  the  ascent  took  a  little  turn  inward 
there,  and  then  rose  in  another  towering  mass  of  rocks 
and  timber  to  another  sky-line,  "  where,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "there  may  be  still  another  confounded 
mountain  piled  on  this  one,  and  so  on  ad  infinitum" 

By  this  time  the  heights  were  black  against  the 
western  sky,  and  the  sun  had  long  been  out  of  sight 
on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain. 

"  If  that  next  shelf  above  me  should  be  the  top," 
said  he,  "I  may  reach  it  to-night :  I've  an  hour  yet 
before  dark." 

But  though  he   made  the   best  of   his  hour  that 


14  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

young  limbs  and  desperate  energy  could,  the  end  of 
it  found  him  still  below  the  timber-line,  in  the 
shadowy  forest  on  the  mountain-side,  weary,  hungry,, 
and  more  sadly  lost  and  bewildered  than  ever. 

Not  wishing  to  be  caught  in  the  utter  darkness 
that  was  fast  coming  on,  he  gathered  enough  dry 
wood  for  his  fire,  spread  his  blanket  on  the  ground — 
for  he  could  not  afford  to  waste  energy  in  getting 
soft  foliage  for  a  couch — cooked  his  trout,  which  was 
by  this  time  a  little  the  worse  for  wear,  and  devoured 
it  ravenously,  unsalted  as  it  was. 

He  had  meant  to  keep  a  little  of  it  to  help  uphold 
his  strength  in  the  toil  and  faintness  which,  he  knew, 
must  be  his  portion  on  the  morrow  ;  but  the  piece  he 
saved  was  so  very  small  that  he  thought  better  to  use 
it  as  a  complement  to  a  moderate  repast  than  as  an 
appetizer  for  none  at  all,  so  it  followed  the  rest  of 
the  fish  at  once. 

He  had  picked  a  few  salal-berries  on  the  way  up. 
They  were  juicy  and  mellow,  but  they  had  an  unpleas 
ant  sticky  sweetness  that  made  him  very  thirsty. 

He  could  hear  the  sound  of  water,  and  tried  to 
find  it  by  the  light  of  a  resinous  stick,  but  his  torch 
seemed  only  to  burn  a  little  hollow  in  the  blackness 
and  to  make  all  the  rest  more  impenetrably  thick 
than  ever  by  contrast.  The  waters  mocked  him  in 
the  echoing  woodland,  sounding  now  on  this  side, 
now  on  that ;  now  near,  now  far  away. 

Bruised  by  rocks  and  scratched  by  brambles,  he 
went  back  to  the  fire  and  blanket  that  were  his  home 
for  the  time. 

Until  then,  hard  exertion  and  the  concentration  of 
will  on  an  end  to  be  achieved  had  kept  him  from 


LEONORA  OP   THE  YAWMISH  15 

realizing  his  helplessness  to  the  full.  Now  fancy  had 
free  play,  and  he  not  only  saw  and  felt  his  real  dan 
ger,  but  began  to  multiply  the  sense  of  it  by  needless 
imaginary  fears. 

The  evening  pipe  had  not  its  usual  soothing  eifect 
on  his  weary,  unfed  system.  He  grew  nervous  and 
restless,  hating  the  awful  stillness,  yet  not  daring  to 
break  it ;  starting  at  the  rustle  of  a  leaf  or  the  drop 
of  a  cone  from  overhead. 

The  horror  of  solitude  came  upon  him  as  he  lay 
among  the  grim  trees  and  rocks  under  the  black  dis 
torted  branches,  with  their  rustling,  waving  drapery, 
in  the  red  glow  of  the  fire. 

The  immensity  of  the  objects  about  him  oppressed 
and  overawed  him  —  the  feeling  of  distance  from 
mankind,  the  idea  of  height  and  depth  above  and 
below. 

His  former  experiences  had  been  bounded  by  the 
club,  the  drawing-room,  the  hotel,  and  the  conven 
tional  routes  of  travel.  Accustomed  to  no  more  fear 
ful  solitude  than  that  of  some  pleasant  grove  in  the 
country,  he  felt  an  unreasoning  fear,  like  that  of  a 
little  child  whose  mother  has  gone  away  it  knows  not 
whither  and  left  it  in  a  strange  place,  in  the  mystery 
of  darkness  to  wait  and  shiver  and  call  for  her  and 
listen,  winning  no  answer  from  the  silence. 

At  such  a  time  one  begins  to  think  of  places  in  his 
life  when  he  might  have  done  better  by  others. 

Moorhead,  generally  self-congratulatory,  now  found 
himself  thinking  very  sadly  over  certain  events  that 
presented  themselves  to  him  in  a  guise  more  vivid 
than  complimentary. 

"  Poor  old  Tom  !"  said  he.     "Well,  he'll  get  it  all 


16  LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISH 

now,  and  I  hope  not  too  late  to  do  him  any  good — I 
hope  not  too  late  !" 

Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  this  hope, 
which  he  felt  truly  and  deeply  at  the  moment,,  was  a 
hope  for  the  consequences  of  his  own  death,  which 
he  had  begun,  in  his  fright,  to  deem  very  probable, 
since  it  was  evident  that  he  could  neither  live  in  the 
woods  nor  find  his  way  out  of  them ;  and  he  added, 
"If  I  die,  that  is." 

Now  a  question  formed  itself  in  his  mind — not,  as 
it  seemed,  his  own  question,  but  one  asked  with 
authority,  which  he  must  answer. 

"Do  you  not  mean  to  do  him  justice  if  you  live  ?" 
And  Moorhead  answered,  very  solemnly,  "I  do,  and  I 
will." 

The  promise  comforted  him  awhile,  and  gave  him 
the  fresh  hope  that  comes  with  the  consciousness  of 
something  worth  living  for,  if  it  be  only  the  righting 
of  a  wrong.  He  felt  a  claim  on  life.  But  gradually 
his  nervous  fears  came  back.  He  began  to  grow 
sleepy.  The  firs  whispered,  and  sighed,  and  mur 
mured  over  him  ;  the  mocking  water  among  the  rocks 
—the  water  that  had  played  such  a  game  of  hide-and- 
seek  with  his  thirst — laughed  with  an  unearthly  me 
tallic  voice,  with  a  strange  harmony  of  its  own  that 
rose  and  fell  in  rhythmic  cadence,  suggesting  a  choral 
bund  of  woodland  beings  that  danced  with  mirth  and 
wild  music  in  the  darkness  on  the  mountain-side. 

Sleep  only  brought  him  strange  dreams.  He  could 
reason  down  his  nervous  fancies,  but  whenever  he 
withdrew  his  will  from  the  effort  they  took  new 
strength  and  came  back  in  innumerable  shapes  to 
trouble  him  afresh. 


LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISH  17 

Unused  to  so  hard  a  couch,  chilly  and  hungry,  he 
shifted  his  tired  form  from  one  uneasy  position  to 
another,  or  crouched,  half  -  suffocated  with  smoke, 
close  over  the  fire,  till  it  seemed  that  he  had  been 
there  the  greater  part  of  his  life ;  and  still  there  was 
no  sign  of  day. 


Ill 

As  soon  as  dawn  enabled  him  to  see  about  him, 
fantastic  troubles  began  to  disappear  and  real  ones 
to  take  their  places. 

His  faintness  made  him  dread  bestirring  himself 
and  cooking  breakfast,  yet  (so  prone  is  the  human 
mind  to  discontent)  he  was  even  less  pleased  when 
he  realized  that  he  need  not  trouble  himself  with  that 
function,  which  entire  lack  of  material  would  have 
rendered  an  empty  formality. 

The  morning  air  was  delightfully  refreshing.  The 
whisper  of  the  boughs  seemed  less  mysterious  and 
more  soothing;  the  water  laughed  no  longer  as  in 
mockery,  but  cheerily.  Now  he  might  drink,  and 
delight  at  the  prospect  made  him  forget  his  despair 
a  moment  and  brought  him  to  his  feet. 

He  found  the  stream,  revenged  himself  upon  it  for 
its  trickery  of  the  past  night,  and,  greatly  refreshed 
for  the  time  being,  strapped  up  his  blanket,  ate  the 
rest  of  his  salal-berries,  comforted  his  soul  with  the 
thought  of  the  promise  he  had  made  concerning  Tom 
(whoever  Tom  may  have  been)  and  of  his  own  en 
hanced  value  in  the  eye  of  Fate  as  the  promoter  of 
a  good  object,  and  took  counsel  with  himself  as  to 
what  was  next  to  be  done. 

This,  he  decided,  was  to  follow  the  nearest  water 
course.  So  he  might  avoid  the  thirst  that  had  tor- 


LEONORA   OP    THE   YAWMISII  19 

mented  him,  become  in  due  time  the  glad  possessor 
of  fish,  and  finally  reach  Puget  Sound,  where  he  might 
easily  find  a  settlement  or  hail  some  passing  boat. 

The  brook  that  had  been  his  enemy  became  his( 
guide  and  source  of  supply.  He  followed  it  with  some 
trouble  where  it  plunged  down  the  southerly  slope  he 
had  climbed  the  day  before,  and  was  much  relieved 
when  it  stayed  its  abrupt  descent,  and,  bending  along 
a  nearly  level  "  shelf"  to  the  eastward,  kept  on  in  that 
direction  over  a  place  where  an  immense  landslide 
had  piled  up  earth  upon  the  mountain-side  in  ages 
past,  and  had  built  a  gentle,  rolling  slope  with  mounds 
and  hollows — a  pleasant  kind  of  country,  full  of  wood 
land  grace  and  loveliness,  and  very  different  from  the 
steep  he  had  just  traversed. 

A  deer  started  from  cover  and  stood  a  few  seconds 
with  ears  erect,  wide  eyes,  and  moving  nostrils,  then 
dashed  away.  Moorhead  hated  the  man  who  had 
stolen  his  rifle,  on  the  groundless  assumption  that 
he  would  have  been  able  to  hit  the  animal. 

The  water  led  him  more  and  more  to  his  left,  till 
it  nearly  reached  the  base  of  the  mountain,  having 
made  about  one-third  of  its  circuit.  As  he  went  011 
he  could  hear,  faintly  at  first,  then  louder  and  louder, 
the  mellow  thunder  of  a  river.  Encouraged  by  the 
sound,  which  promised  food  and  suggested  the  possi 
bility  that  so  large  a  stream  would  have  tempted  men 
to  settle  far  in  the  woods,  he  pressed  on  faster,  and 
in  doing  so  used  up  too  much  of  his  small  reserve  of 
strength. 

Whether  through  the  absence  of  that  famous  al 
penstock  of  his,  or  for  lack  of  guides,  ropes,  and  the 
other  conveniences  to  which,  as  a  practised  moun- 


20  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

taineer,  he  was  accustomed,  or  because  of  his  anx 
iety  about  his  precious  welfare  and  valuable  health, 
or  because  of  the  unfair  advantage  of  gigantic  size 
with  which  the  things  of  the  mineral  and  vegetable 
world  about  him  seemed  endued,  or  for  whatever 
reason,  he  was  exhausted  —  head  and  arms  and  legs 
and  lungs  were  growing  faint. 

The  stream,  with  its  deep  channel,  capricious  course, 
and  experience  in  dodging  obstacles,  was  no  easy  guide 
to  follow.  As  nervous  force  sustained  him,  he  kept 
on,  without  knowing  how  heavily  the  effort  to  increase 
his  speed  told  upon  his  failing  powers,  till  the  roar  of 
the  river  sounded  very  near. 

Having  brought  him  to  this  pass  (which  proved 
to  be  no  thoroughfare),  the  stream  played  him  a  fare 
well  trick,  and,  like  a  laughing  girl  who  suddenly 
springs  away  from  her  bewildered  escort  with  a  flash 
ing  backward  glance  and  a  glimpse  of  bewitching 
white  drapery  as  she  runs,  leaped,  tossing  its  foam 
and  rainbow  spray  upon  the  air  with  mirthful  ripple 
down  a  rough  ledge  of  granite  and  over  a  sheer  prec 
ipice,  leaving  the  poor  waif  sadly  at  a  loss  how  to 
follow  farther. 

He,  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  forest  on  the  ledge, 
saw  a  towering  range  of  mountains  opposite,  and  at 
their  base,  not  far  before  him,  a  fair  valley,  with  green 
meadows,  tree -crowned  knolls,  bright  pools  of  still 
water  gleaming  in  the  light,  or  lying  dark  and  cool 
in  shadow,  and  here  and  there  a  glimpse  of  the  river 
through  the  soft  fringe  of  cottonwood,  alder,  and 
willow  that  marked  its  course. 

At  the  head  of  the  valley  the  two  ranges  nearly  met, 
and  the  river  roared  through  the  deep  canon  that 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH  21 

parted  them,  while  looking  upward  through  the 
chasm  he  could  see  the  eternal  snows  of  a  higher 
range.  No  traveller  could  look  upon  a  fairer  land 
in  which  to  rest ;  but  long  as  he  would,  and  look 
as  he  might,  he  could  see  no  way  of  reaching  it  alive. 

The  ledge  on  which  he  stood  projected  a  little  from 
the  forest  and  was  bare  of  vegetation,  so  that  he  could 
see  far  along  on  either  side.  He  saw  that  he  had 
crossed  a  range  by  a  gap  between  two  heights.  Close 
on  his  left  rose  that  on  whose  southerly  slope  he  had 
spent  the  night,  and  down  and  round  which  he  had 
been  journeying  since  dawn.  To  the  right  and  east 
ward  stood  another  peak,  and  between  and  along  the 
northern  bases  of  both  extended  the  precipice  on 
which  he  stood. 

Just  before  him,  where  the  stream  fell  over,  the 
ledge  jutted  down  and  out  at  a  perilous  slant.  Wish 
ing  to  scan  the  face  of  the  steep  and  see  if  it  afforded 
any  hope  of  a  descent,  he  cautiously  crept  down  on 
the  slope  of  the  projection  and  lay  prone,  with  his 
feet  almost  at  the  verge,  one  of  them  resting  against 
a  slight  angle  in  the  rough  surface  ;  his  arms  out 
stretched  and  his  hands  clinging  to  the  rock  as  best 
they  might. 

Having  seen  all  he  could  of  the  front  of  the  cliff 
and  found  that,  although  most  of  it  was  quite  im 
passable,  a  jutting  out  of  green  foliage  near  the  foot, 
at  some  distance,  seemed  to  betoken  a  gorge  or  water- 
bed  to  the  eastward,  he  determined  to  explore  in  that 
direction.  But  his  obliging  destiny,  beholding  his 
need  of  a  means  of  reaching  the  valley,  supplied  one 
then  and  there. 

His  strength,  already  taxed  to  its  limit,  would  not 


22  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

bear  him  up  the  rock ;  he  slipped  a  little,  caught  a 
cramp  in  his  thigh,  lost  his  nerve,  struggled  wildly 
in  a  long  moment  of  agony,  put  too  much  faith  in  a 
little  tuft  of  grass  that  grew  in  a  crevice,  lost  his  hold 
as  it  gave  way,  and  fell. 


IV 


THE  waters  of  the  river  Yawmish  are  born  of  sun 
and  snow  on  one  of  the  inner  and  loftier  heights  of 
the  Olympics.  In  brightness  and  cold  purity  they 
flash  into  being  and  come  springing  down  their  na 
tive  crags  into  a  green  glen  that  nestles  on  the  huge 
shoulder  of  the  mountain — a  safe  and  pleasant  past 
ure  for  the  deer  —  unapproached  by  feet  that  are 
shod.  They  race  over  the  green  in  the  freshness  of 
new  life,  tumble  tinkling  into  a  rocky  basin,  and 
thence  with  a  merry  noise  come  coursing  down  the 
steep,  gathering  strength  as  they  go — down  across  the 
timber-line,  through  the  echoing  woodlands  to  the 
canon  and  in  and  out  along  the  pediments  of  the 
mountains,  where,  grown  to  a  torrent  multitude,  they 
fling  a  peal  of  thunder  to  the  heights.  They  pass  the 
outer  circle  by  a  chasm  in  the  wall  and  roll  away 
through  a  lovely  valley,  where  they  spread  abroad  and 
linger  here  and  there  in  little  lakes  beneath  the  shade, 
then  gather  their  forces  into  a  strong,  swift  river, 
and,  rounding  in  foam  and  tumult  the  end  of  an  out 
standing  range,  go  roaring  through  the  forest  to  join 
the  waters  that  have  gone  before  them  in  the  Sound. 
They  are  of  a  bright  clear  green,  and  Avith  the  foam 
upon  their  tossing  heads  look  like  masses  of  fair  beryl 
flecked  with  snowy  quartz. 

It  was  that  same  outstanding  range  from  which 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

Moorhead  had  fallen,  and  ho  lay  in  the  valley,  un 
conscious  of  the  loveliness  around  him. 

He  had  fallen  far,  but  a  tall  cedar  had  caught  him 
on  its  spreading  arms,  and  the  boughs  had  tossed  him 
upward  and  let  him  fall,  still  from  a  dreadful  height. 
The  young  trees  below  caught  him  again,  and  would 
have  held  him  but  his  clothing  tore,  and  he  fell  from 
bough  to  bough,  down  to  the  springy  undergrowth, 
and  thence  rolled  over  upon  a  clear  space  covered 
with  deep  rich  moss  that  grew  on  the  wood-mould 
like  a  fleece,  without  stick  or  stone  to  mar  its  lux 
ury. 

So  he  lay,  senseless  more  through  exhaustion  than 
hurt,  and  breathed,  and  lived.  When  he  awoke  he 
had  lain  there  a  long  time,  so  that  the  moss  was  warm 
beneath  him.  With  faint,  uncertain  senses,  as  in  a 
dream,  he  heard  the  drowsy  music  of  the  river,  and 
knew  the  sweet  aroma  of  the  cedar  blended  with  the 
honey-odor  of  balsam. 

A  sunbeam  slanting  down  through  the  foliage  rested 
warm  on  his  face. 

He  lay  still  with  closed  eyes,  half  unconscious  in 
the  luxury  of  rest  and  warmth,  sweet  sounds  and 
fragrant  air,  not  stirring,  hardly  thinking. 

Then  he  seemed  to  hear  words  gently  murmured  in 
a  tone  of  awe  and  pity. 

"  Oh— he  is  dead  I" 

He  was  hardly  awake  yet,  and  the  words  were  to 
him  such  as  one  hears  in  a  dream  without  wonderino- 
at  their  strangeness,  whatever  they  may  say.  "  He  is 
dead !"  He  understood  that  he  himself  was  meant ; 
but  he  felt  no  surprise,  for  he  was  in  a  state  of  pas 
sive  submission  of  mind  and  body,  making  no  eifort 


LEONORA  OP   THE  TAWMISII  25 

to  know,  but  faintly  receiving  such  impressions  as 
reached  his  half -awakened  senses.  So  he  was  dead  ? 
Yes  ;  well,  he  was  willing.  It  was  pleasant  and  rest 
ful — gentle  warmth  was  about  him,  sweet  odors  and 
delightful  sounds. 

"Death  is  good,"  he  murmured,,  drowsily.  Some 
thing  cool  and  light  touched  his  hand  :  his  eyes 
opened  a  little ;  he  saw  dimly,  still  as  in  a  dream,  a 
face  looking  down  upon  his.  A  pale,  fair  face,  with 
glorious  brown  eyes,  dark  with  pity  and  alarm,  gazing 
kindly  and  anxiously  into  his  own.  A  sweet,  whole 
some,  womanly  face — he  saw  it  more  distinctly  now 
as  the  mist  of  faintness  began  to  clear  away  from  be 
fore  his  eyes — full,  tender,  sensitive  lips,  cheeks  sweet 
ly  rounded,  and  those  lovely  eyes  full  of  good  will, 
under  strong  dark  brows,  a  fair  broad  forehead  shaded 
by  waves  of  gleaming  gold-brown  hair. 

A  gentle  lady's  face,  bright  with  sense  and  under 
standing,  formed  by  delicate  thoughts,  rich  in  the 
finer  feelings. 

He  lay  and  looked,  with  no  wish  to  move  or  think, 
without  care,  without  wonder ;  languidly,  passively, 
dreamily  happy. 

The  soft  voice  spoke  again  in  a  low,  soothing  tone  : 
"Speak  to  me — tell  me — are  you  in  pain  ?" 

"I  don't  know," said  he,  sleepily,  "or  care." 

"Ah!  but  you  look  sadly,"  said  she.  "Will  you 
try  and  sit  up  ?  Shall  I  help  you  ?" 

"I  don't  think  I  care  to — much,"  he  answered. 

"  But  you  must.    Yes,  you  must  try." 

He  felt  a  firm,  light  touch  on  his  shoulder  and  on 
his  arm.  "  Come  now  !" 

He  tried  to  move,  and  groaned,  for  the  effort  was 


2G  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

agony ;  his  muscles  were  stiff,  and  lie  was  bruised  and 
helplessly  weak. 

"  Oh  !  I  have  hurt  you,"  said  she,  "  I  am  so  sorry ! 
There— lie  and  rest  a  little  longer  and  I  will  bring 
you  help — never  fear." 

So  saying,  she  rose  from  his  side,  a  graceful  figure, 
smiling  down  at  him  ;  turned  and  passed  swiftly  away 
among  the  surrounding  bushes.  He  tried  to  rise  and 
follow  her,  but  fell  back  racked  with  pains,  which 
brought  him  quite  to  himself  and  left  him  fully  con 
scious,  but  not  certain  in  his  mind  as  to  whether  his 
visitant  had  been  a  living  human  being  who  had 
really  promised  him  help,  or  only  one  of  those  visions 
that  come  to  a  failing  mind  in  its  weakness,  seen 
when  the  eyes  are  closed  and  invisible  when  they  are 
open. 

He  tried  to  think  how  she  looked  and  what  she  had 
said,  but  could  only  remember  vaguely  a  lovely  face 
close  to  his ;  a  sweet,  low  voice  that  gave  comfort  and 
hope ;  a  slender  form  that  vanished  in  the  bushes  ere 
it  was  fairly  seen,  leaving  an  impression  of  grace  and 
beauty  and  strange  but  rich  attire. 

Yes,  it  must  be  real ;  doubtless  she  would  come 
again.  And  yet  his  mind  had  been  so  wrought  upon 
during  the  night  past ;  he  remembered  that  as  he  lay 
fevered  with  thirst,  listening  to  the  water,  he  had  im 
agined  nymphs  dancing  on  the  mountain,  and  old 
legends  had  come  back  vividly  to  his  mind. 

So  he  lay,  arguing  with  himself,  now  inclining  to 
this  opinion,  now  to  that ;  now  feeling  hope  of  present 
aid,  now  despairing  in  utter  helplessness  and  loneli 
ness. 

He  was  yielding  more  and  more  to  the  latter  state 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII  27 

of  mind  when  he  heard  the  voice  again,  clear  and 
cheery : 

"  We're  coming.     Can  yon  hear  us  ?" 

The  bushes  rustled.,  and  there  stood  his  nymph  with 
her  attendant  satyr — a  negro  of  powerful  frame  and 
surpassing  blackness.  He  was  rather  of  the  gorilla 
type  of  beauty,  with  long  arms  and  huge  hands,  im 
mense  chest  and  shoulders  ;  his  hair  was  grizzled,  and 
the  crown  of  his  head  bald,  and  glorious  when  the 
sunbeams  touched  it. 

"A  long  tumble,  sab,"  said  he,  with  deferential 
manner  and  very  little  of  the  accent  of  his  race.  "Am 
you  broke  at  all,  sah  ?" 

"Everywhere,  I  think," said  Moorhead. 

"May  I  take  the  liberty  of  feeling  for  shattered 
bones,  sah  ?"  asked  the  black  man,  kneeling  beside 
him,  and  passing  a  great  hand  deftly  over  his  person. 

Having  ascertained  that  the  bones  were  all  in  place, 
the  sable  personage  turned  and  drew  from  the  bushes  a 
large  arm-chair,  covered  with  soft  furs,  and  set  it  down 
beside  his  patient,  lifted  his  body  while  the  girl  took 
his  feet  from  the  ground,  and  seated  him  in  it  ;  then, 
kneeling  behind  it,  thrust  his  own  arms  through  two 
broad  thongs  that  were  fastened  on  either  side  of  the 
back,  and,  slipping  them  over  his  big  shoulders,  rose 
and  strode  steadily  away  with  the  chair  on  his  back, 
and  Moorhead  sitting  in  it  as  comfortably  as  his  con 
dition  would  allow,  while  the  girl  held  aside  the  under 
growth  to  let  them  pass  the  more  easily. 

Moorhead  saw  that  they  were  going  along  a  beaten 
path  beside  the  river,  but  nothing  more  ;  for  when  he 
had  begun  to  recover  from  the  intense  pain  caused  by 
his  being  lifted,  and  to  become  used  to  the  slight 


28  LEONORA   OF  THE  YAWMISH 

swaying  and  jogging  motion  of  the  chair,  he  fell  into 
a  dead  faint. 

When  he  came  to  he  was  in  a  room  with  log  walls, 
on  a  comfortable  bed,  and  the  negro  was  bending 
over  him. 

"You'll  be  better  now,  sah.  It  Avas  an  awful  fall 
— a  stupendious  fall — sah  !" 

"  An  awful  fall/'  said  Moorhead.  "  Yes,  I  suppose 
so." 

"  'Low  me  to  help  you  to  bed,  sah,"  said  the  negro  ; 
and  having  raised  him,  sat  beside  him  on  the  bed, 
supporting  him  in  one  big  arm  while  he  gently  un 
dressed  him,  turned  down  the  bedclothes,  and  placed 
him  safe  between  a  snowy  pair  of  sheets. 

"  There,  sah,  am  you  quite  comfable  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Moorhead.  "  Fm  very  hungry, 
could  you  bring  me  some  food  ?  I'm  well  able  to 
pay- 

"No  question  of  payment,  sah,"  said  the  negro, 
hastily. 

"  But  I'd  rather  pay,"  said  Moorhead. 

"  Sorry,  sah ;  but  it's  beyond  the  bounds  of  possi 
bility,"  said  the  other,  with  suave  dignity  and  a  great 
deal  of  manner. 

"  Is  this — your  house  ?" 

"  This  is  Mr.  Willoughby's  house,  sah.  I  am  Mr. 
Willoughby's  butlah,  sir.  Now,  sah,  if  you  please, 
I  will  bring  you  some  broff." 

He  bowed  himself  out,  and  soon  returned  with  a 
bowl  from  which  a  delicious  savor  of  venison  arose. 

Moorhead  ate  ravenously,  wondering  the  while  who 
Mr.  Willoughby  could  be  that  had  a  butler  in  such  a 
place. 


LEONOEA  OP  THE  YAWMISII  29 

"May  I  see  Mr.  Willoughby  ?"  he  asked,  when  he 
had  finished  ;  "I  should  like  to  thank  him." 

"  I  think  not.  Mr.  Willoughby  seldom  receives 
guests,  sah.  If  you  please,  sah,  sleep  am  the  most 
important  agent  for  the  renovation  of  your  faculties, 
sah."  He  placed  on  a  chair  by  the  bed  a  large  tin- 
pan  and  a  hatchet. 

"  What  are  those  ?"  Moorhead  asked,  rather  appre 
hensively,  with  sudden  recollections  of  those  stories 
told  to  gladden  our  childhood's  dreams,  wherein  trav 
ellers  are  slain  and  salted  during  their  sleep  in  out- 
of-the-way  places  in  the  woods. 

"  Those  are  an  improvidential  gong,  sah.  If  you 
should  want  anything,  and  will  be  pleased  to  beat  on 
the  pan  with  the  hatchet,  I  will  come.  'Low  rue  to 
'stinguish  the  light,  sah.  Good-night,  sah  ;"  and  the 
lamp  and  the  butler  went  out  and  left  Moorhead  to 
the  enjoyment  of  undisturbed  rest. 

He,  though  used  to  the  greatest  luxury,  had  never 
known  any  such  as  he  felt  now. 

After  weary  days  of  wandering  and  nights  spent 
on  the  ground,  the  first  cool  touch  of  linen,  the  first 
soft  pressure  of  a  comfortable  bed,  are  more  delight 
ful  than  anything  that  can  be  bought  for  money. 

The  balmy  air  came  gently  from  the  open  window ; 
the  woods  and  waters  made  soft  music  in  the  valley. 
He  enjoyed  it  a  few  moments  and  slept. 


THE  wanderer  was  too  much  shaken  by  his  fall, 
too  much  excited  by  unusual  adventure,  to  sleep  a 
natural,  wholesome  sleep  —  too  much  exhausted  to 
awake  when  his  bruises  gave  him  pain. 

So  he  dreamed,  and  in  his  dreams  the  events  of  the 
last  few  days  were  blended  in  a  tangled  chain  of 
frightful  fancies. 

He  seemed  to  be  still  toiling  alone  in  dark,  track 
less,  precipitous  places ;  groping  by  night  in  the  brush, 
and  pursued  among  the  rocks  by  creatures  of  the 
woods  with  Siwash  faces  —  beings  who  peeped  from 
behind  trees  and  leered  and  made  wry  mouths  at 
him,  or  sang  and  danced  as  they  circled  round  him 
or  eluded  his  wrath ;  and  if  ever  he  came  out  of  the 
darkness,  or  escaped,  or  was  about  to  lay  hands  on  a 
foe,  suddenly  he  seemed  to  fall  into  infinite  depths, 
while  mocking  laughter  sounded  round  him  and  hands 
seemed  to  clutch  at  him  from  the  empty  air  as  he  fell. 

But  now  and  then  throughout  his  dreams  a  lovely 
form  drew  near,  a  lovely  face  looked  into  his  with 
kindly  deep-brown  eyes,  a  gentle  cool  hand  touched 
his  own,  and  a  soft  voice  spoke  soothing  words. 

When  lie  awoke  a  light  was  burning  in  the  corner 
of  the  room,  and  beside  it  sat  an  old  man  reading  and 
smoking  a  big  pipe. 

His  head  was  large,  with  a  noble,  rugged  forehead, 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISII  31 

deep-set  eyes  and  shaggy  eyebrows,  drawn  into  the 
habitual  frown  of  one  who  reads  much  by  night. 

His  hair  hung  to  his  shoulders  in  fine  gray  locks, 
and  a  huge  silvery  beard  lay  on  his  chest ;  altogether, 
in  spite  of  his  careless  pose — for  he  lounged  in  a  chair 
tipped  back  against  the  wall,  while  his  stockinged  feet 
reposed  in  another — he  was  a  venerable  figure. 

Moorhead  lay  and  watched  him,  trying  meanwhile 
to  remember  where  he  was  and  how  he  had  come 
there,  and  to  sort  out  the  real  memories  from  the 
dreams.  Soon  the  sight  of  the  pan  and  the  hatchet 
reminded  him  of  his  last  conversation,  and  it  occurred 
to  him  that  this  must  be  the  owner  of  the  house  and 
of  the  butler. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  said  he,  and  stopped,  for  his  voice 
was  strange  to  him,  so  hollow  and  faint  that  he  would 
never  have  recognized  it  as  his  own — "  I  think,  sir, 
you  are  my  host  ?" 

The  old  man  took  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  laid 
his  book  on  the  table,  and  looked  annoyed  ;  then  rose, 
took  up  the  lamp,  and  came  over  to  the  bedside.  He 
was  a  man  of  great  stature  and  proportionate  breadth, 
lean,  sinewy,  and  deep-chested,  but  stooping  a  little 
as  one  who  spends  much  time  in  study ;  and  wore  an 
old  dark-blue  smoking -jacket,  a  gray  flannel  shirt 
with  white  necktie,  very  loose  blue  trousers,  and  black 
stockings.  He  leaned  over  Moorhead,  looked  into  his 
eyes,  and  felt  his  hand  and  forehead.  "How  do  you 
feel  ?"  said  he. 

"Bather  weak,  thanks/'  said  Moorhead,  after  a 
short  self -investigation,  "and  very  thirsty." 

The  old  man  went  out,  and  brought  back  a  tin  cup 
of  water  from  one  of  the  cold  eddies  of  the  mountain- 


32  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

stream.  Moorhead  drank  eagerly  and  fell  back,  much 
refreshed,  on  the  pillow.  "Now,"  said  the  old  man, 
"try  and  sleep,"  arid  sat  down  again  to  read. 

Moorhead  watched  him  and  wondered  why  he  was 
there.  He  was  anxious  to  talk  and  hear  all  about 
himself  first,  and  then  the  people  of  the  place,  but 
hardly  knew  how  to  begin.  The  old  gentleman  had 
an  air  of  not  wishing  to  be  disturbed. 

Presently  he  asked,  "  Have  you  the  time,  sir  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  petulantly,  taking 
his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  with  an  impatient  manner 
and  consulting  his  watch — a  large  gold  timepiece  of 
old  fashion — "Half -past  nine,  more  or  less." 

"  No  later  than  that  ?  Why,  it  must  have  been 
about  eight  when  I  went  to  sleep ;  and  surely — surely 
I've  slept  longer  than  that.  Why,  it  seems  ages  since 
I  came  to  bed  !" 

"  It  isn't,"  said  the  other.  "  It's  only  four  days  and 
a  fraction. " 

"Four  !    Oh  !  Fve  been  ill  then  !"  said  Moorhead. 

"  Damnably,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "and  if  you 
talk  any  more  you'll  be  worse." 

The  patient  was  still  awhile,  but,  having  considered 
his  condition  and  inwardly  expressed  his  concern  for 
himself,  began  to  be  annoyed  at  the  silent  presence 
with  the  book  and  pipe.  He  had  nothing  with  which 
to  amuse  himself  except  unsatisfactory  conjectures, 
and  that  picture  of  quiet  enjoyment  irritated  him. 
He  began  to  wish  the  old  gentleman  away. 

"I  must  not  trouble  you  to  sit  up  with  me,"  he 
said.  "I'm  causing  you  great  inconvenience,  I  fear. 
It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  take  care  of  a  stranger, 
and—" 


LEONORA   OP  THE  YAWMISII 

"Not  in  the  least/' said  the  old  gentleman.  "I 
didn't  care  to  have  you  die  about  the  place.  I  don't 
keep  a  public  cemetery  for  wayfarers.  The  alter 
native  was  to  nurse  you  and  have  you  able  to  travel  as 
soon  as  possible.  Do  you  mind  the  light  ?" 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Moorhead,  "but  allow  me  to— 

"Then  try  and  keep  still." 

Moorhead  said  no  more,  but  began  to  think  over 
the  memories  of  the  few  days  past.  They  were  rather 
vague,  and  blent  with  dreams  that  had  come  to  him 
in  his  feverish  illness.  He  remembered  the  night  on 
the  mountain,  but  the  dream-pictures  were  woven  in 
upon  its  darkness.  He  remembered  his  fall,  and  the 
awakening — the  journey  on  the  butler's  back. 

What  kind  of  place  was  this — this  house  in  the  back 
woods,  with  log- walls  and  a  butler  ? 

This  man  who  sat  and  read  looked  quite  capable  of 
such  a  possession.  His  features  showed  refinement ; 
his  voice  was  that  of  a  gentleman  ;  his  words,  curt  and 
eccentric  as  they  were,  had  not  been  rudely  spoken. 

Then  that  face — that  lovely  face  and  form  that  had 
come  in  his  dreams  and  driven  away  the  ugly  fancies — 
was  that  a  memory,  or  a  fancy  also  ?  He  could  not 
tell. 

Pondering  on  this,  he  slept  a  cool,  delicious,  whole 
some  sleep,  from  which  voices  on  the  porch  by  his 
door  awakened  him. 

"  No,"  said  that  of  the  old  man,  "  I  shall  go  and  try 
the  trout.  Moloch  has  supplied  me  well  with  wrig 
glers,  and  I  hope — 

"But,"  said  another  voice,  very  gentle,  clear,  and 
sweet,  "you  have  been  up  all  night,  and  surely  you 
need  rest." 

8 


34  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

"  I  often  am,,  and  I  do  not  need  rest ;  besides,  it  is 
a  perfect  day  for  fishing." 

"  Was  our  invalid — " 

"Whose  invalid  ?" 

"  Our  invalid." 

"  Why  ours  ?" 

"  '  Who  is  our  neighbor  ?  A  certain  man  went 
down  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho — ' " 

"  Yes,  yes — I  know,"  said  the  old  man,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  So  your  mother  would  have  said,  Leo 
nora." 

There  was  silence,  broken  by  the  sweet  young  voice. 

"  Well,  how  is  he  ?  Was  he  in  his  right  mind  when 
he  woke  ?" 

"  Y-es — yes;  quite,  I  should  say.  He  seems  to  be 
doing  very  well." 

" Poor  fellow  !"  said  the  other ;  "he  has  lost  all  his 
good  looks." 

"  Such  as  they  were,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Good 
looks,  like  everything  else,  are  a  matter  of  compari 
son.  The  human  race  is  not  beautiful,  and  he  does 
not  excel  the  average.  You  see  you  have  no  standard 
of  comparison." 

"  Oh  !  /  think  good  looks  are  real — positive — 

"Not  his,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  an  ugly 
chuckle.  "  Less  still  now.  Where's  my  rod  ?  Oh, 
thank  you.  Good-bye  ;  I  must  be  off  to  catch  my 
speckled  friends  at  their  sunrise  breakfast." 

Moorhead  thought  him  as  disagreeable  an  old  man 
as  he  ever  had  mot. 

The  voices  had  stopped,  and  footsteps  had  succeed 
ed  them,  going  away  in  two  directions.  The  door 
stood  wide,  and  the  curtains  were  drawn  from  the 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  35 

open  window.  From  his  pillow  he  could  see,  framed 
by  the  vines  that  hung  about  the  window,  a  glowing 
object  cleaving  the  sky  like  a  tongue  of  rosy  flame — 
a  sharp  snow-peak  that,  looking  far  over  the  horizon 
line,  saw  the  approach  of  the  morning,  while  the  lesser 
heights  still  slept  in  the  gray  dawn,  and  flushed  at 
the  sight  with  glory. 

The  door  framed  a  different  picture  —  a  garden- 
path  leading  to  a  dim  grove,  and  a  glimpse  of  water 
through  dusky  foliage. 

The  peak  began  to  brighten,  and  turned  from  rose 
to  gold,  and  then  to  clear  white  as  the  full  light 
settled  on  it ;  the  flowers  by  the  path  began  to  show 
their  colors  and  the  waters  to  sparkle. 

All  this  did  not  appeal  to  Moorhead,  who  was  think 
ing  of  what  he  had  overheard.  He  lay  uneasily — im 
patient  till  he  heard  the  voice  of  the  old  butler  sing 
ing  at  his  morning  work.  Then  he  seized  the  hatchet 
and  beat  upon  the  tin  pan. 

"  You're  awake,  sah,  an'  bettah — much  bettah," 
said  the  butler.  "  You  rang,  sah  ?" 

"  Yes/'  said  Moorhead.  "  Is  there  such  a  thing  as 
a  mirror — a  looking-glass — to  be  had  ?  Then  bring 
me  one." 

The  mirror  showed  him  a  highly  indignant  face, 
quite  thin  and  pale  and  by  no  means  attractive,  but 
unmistakably  his  own.  His  "good  looks"  were  not 
permanently  injured — he  could  see  that — and  on  re 
flection  he  forgave  the  unknown  speaker  for  saying 
they  were  gone,  because  it  implied  her  consciousness 
of  their  having  existed  ;  and  he  took  some  pleasure 
in  the  inference  that,  when  they  should  return,  she 
would  recognize  them  again.  Not  that  he  cared  es- 


36  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII 

pecially  for  her,  but  he  wished  his  good  looks  to  meet 
with  general  recognition  from  her  sex. 

He  knew  her  voice  as  that  which  had  spoken  to  him 
after  his  fall  and  in  his  dreams,  and  was  glad  to  feel 
that  she  was  real. 

The  good  bntler  helped  him  to  a  chair,  made  his 
bed,  patted  out  the  pillows,  and,  having  propped  him 
up  and  settled  him  comfortably,  went  out  to  get  his 
breakfast. 

Afterwards,  while  his  convalescent  appetite  was 
doing  justice  to  a  bowl  of  strong  venison  broth,  sev 
eral  new-laid  eggs,  and  delicious  toast  crisp  without 
hardness,  a  new  picture  stood  in  the  frame  of  the 
door. 

A  tall,  slender  girl  of  queenly  bearing,  lovely  in 
feature  and  expression. 

She  wore  a  dark-green  skirt  of  some  strong,  pliant 
material  that  draped  her  person  gracefully  to  the 
ankles,  and  a  loose  hunting-shirt  of  soft  doe-skin  made 
after  the  Indian  fashion,  with  heavy  fringes  on  arm 
and  breast  and  shoulder  and  richly  embroidered  in 
green  and  gold. 

Her  belt  was  of  the  same  material,  stiff  with  em 
broidery,  and  held,  in  loops,  a  row  of  Winchester  car 
tridges  on  the  left  side,  and  on  the  right  a  hunting- 
knife  with  a  hilt  of  ivory  and  gold,  in  a  sheath  of 
black  fur,  and  a  light  holster  with  a  revolver  of  no 
small  calibre,  beautifully  mounted  to  match  the  knife. 

A  heavy  gold  chain  hung  round  her  neck  and  was 
knotted  on  her  breast,  whence  it  fell  beneath  the  belt. 

Her  feet  were  clad  in  dainty  moccasins,  likewise 
embroidered ;  a  little  golden  snake  with  emerald  eyes 
twined  her  left  wrist  in  spiral  coils. 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII  37 

Moorhead  sat  and  looked  and  wondered.  "Who 
and  what  is  she  ?" 

Surely  she  could  be  no  ordinary  woodland  maiden — 
no  settler's  daughter.  Her  look  and  bearing  were  not 
those  of  a  rustic,  gentle  or  simple ;  her  attire,  peculiar 
and  almost  barbaric  as  it  was,  had  a  certain  chic,  a 
dash  of  style,  that  can  generally  be  attained  only  by  a 
diligent  study  of  the  fashions.  She  was  nobly  formed  ; 
her  neck,  beautifully  round  and  white,  rose  straight 
and  comely  from  a  splendid  pair  of  shoulders,  well 
knit  and  athletic,  yet  neither  too  broad  nor  too  square 
for  womanly  grace.  She  was  slender,  yet  beautifully 
and  not  weakly  moulded,  and  health  shone  in  her 
deep-brown  eyes  and  glowing  sun-browned  cheeks. 
She  held  a  bunch  of  yellow  violets  in  her  hand. 

Moorhead  thought  —  as  every  young  man  thinks 
when  suddenly  confronted  with  new  feminine  love 
liness — that  she  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  he 
had  ever  seen,  and  perhaps  on  this  occasion  he  was 
right. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  getting  well  again/'  she  said 
(and  her  voice  was  the  one  Moorhead  knew).  "  For 
a  while  we  were  afraid  for  you." 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  said  Moorhead.  "  In  fact,  Mr.— 
Mr.—" 

"Mr.  Willoughby?" 

"Yes,  thank  you;  Mr.  Willoughby  told  me  he  did 
not  keep  a  public  cemetery,  and  was  nursing  me  to 
avoid  burying  me." 

"You  mustn't  mind  my  father's  jokes,"  she  said. 
"He  says  strange  things  sometimes." 

"  You  are  Miss  Willoughby,  then  ?" 

"Yes,  so  I  am ;  though  no  one  ever  called  me  so 


38  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

before.  You  would,  of  course/'  she  said,  thoughtfully. 
"Yes,  I  am  Miss  Willoughby." 

"Queer — seems  to  be  in  some  doubt  about  it," 
Moorhead  thought.  "  But  this  is  all  queer." 

"  My  name  is  Moorhead — Norman  Moorhead/'  said 
he,  "and  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  descending  so  ab 
ruptly  on  your  premises." 

"It  was  a  little  precipitate,"  she  answered.  "But 
since  you  had  to  fall,  I  hope  you  will  find  that  you 
have  fallen  among  friends." 

"  Indeed,  you  have  been  friends  to  me,"  he  an 
swered,  "and  now  I  beg  that  I  may  have  the  privilege 
of  being  one  of  yours." 

"A  most  exclusive  privilege,"  said  she,  "for  you 
will  be  the  only  one,  except  my  father  and  Moloch ; 
but  you  are  not  to  talk,  I  forgot.  I  have  read  that 
the  temptation  to  talk  is  irresistible — to  a  woman.  I 
must  prove  the  contrary.  You  must  be  very  quiet 
and  get  well  soon,  for  I  have  many  questions  to  ask 
you,  all  about  the  world  outside.  When  I  begin  you 
will  have  no  peace,  so  make  the  most  of  the  present. 
Have  you  everything  you  need  ?" 

"Yes,  but  Miss  Willoughby,  one  more  question, 
who  is  Moloch  ?" 

"Moloch  is  the  butler." 

Moorhead  let  his  curiosity  get  the  better  of  him. 
"And  may  I  ask  why  you  live  here  ?" 

"  Because  it's  my  home." 

"But—"  he  began. 

She  put  her  finger  on  her  smiling  lips,  shook  her 
head,  then  made  him  a  grand,  stately  courtesy,  and 
was  gone. 

"Am  I  dreaming  again  ?"  said  he.    But  the  yellow 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  39 

violets  on  the  threshold,  where  she  had  dropped  them, 
answered  him  that  he  was  awake. 

He  took  up  the  hatchet  and  pan,  hesitated  a  min 
ute,  laid  them  down,  crept  feebly  to  the  door,  and 
took  the  flowers. 


VI 

THE  mountains  and  woods  breathed  strength  into 
the  atmosphere ;  the  Pacific  sent  inland  a  wholesome 
flavor  of  salt  spray,  tempered  with  the  warmth  of  the 
Japan  current ;  the  air  was  rich  in  health. 

Moorhead  sat  on  the  veranda  by  the  door  of  his 
room ;  as  yet  he  had  been  unable  to  go  farther.  He 
had  had  a  dangerous  illness,  but  was  not  likely  now 
to  die  of  anything  but  curiosity.  That  noisome  mal 
ady  had  taken  full  possession  of  his  mind,  and  he 
spent  his  time  in  forming  theories  about  the  old  gen 
tleman  and  his  daughter,  Leonora,  in  whom  he  was 
beginning  to  take  a  lively  interest. 

His  room  opened  only  outward,  and  he  had  not  yet 
seen  the  inside  of  the  house.  He  had  not  been  al 
lowed  to  talk  much,  and  any  attempt  on  his  part  at 
continued  conversation  was  sure  to  result  in  his  being 
left  alone,  with  an  admonition  that  he  needed  rest. 

What  puzzled  him  was  the  question  how  such  peo 
ple  as  the  Willoughbys  could  possibly  be  at  home  in 
such  a  place.  He  had  one  of  those  peculiarly  conven 
tional  minds  that  resent  anything  unusual  in  the  ways 
of  others — he  was  strongly  attracted  towards  the  Wil 
loughbys.  They  were  evidently  people  of  high  breed 
ing  and  thorough  refinement ;  there  was  even  a  cer 
tain  stateliness  about  them  and  a  charm  of  manner 
that  tempered  the  eccentricities  of  the  old  gentleman 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH  41 

and  made  his  daughter's  loveliness  irresistible  ;  yet 
it  seemed  to  Moorhead  that  there  must  be  something 
wrong  about  them,  because,  from  his  point  of  view, 
they  were  out  of  place. 

They  must,  of  course,  have  a  reason  for  living  in  a 
wilderness  where  there  were  no  neighbors  apparent 
ly — some  cause  for  avoiding  their  fellow-men.  As  for 
their  unwillingness  to  talk  to  him,  it  might  be  owing 
to  his  weak  condition  and  need  of  rest— and  it  might 
not.  Mr.  Willoughby  evidently  wished  him  away. 
He  had  visited  Moorhead  once  or  twice,  for  a  few 
minutes  at  a  time  ;  and  while  he  had  been,  as  far  as 
manner  goes,  the  pink  of  courtesy,  since  the  night 
when  the  patient  had  waked  and  found  him  sitting 
in  the  room,  he  had  hinted  very  plainly  that  he  wished 
him  to  get  well  in  order  that  he  might  continue  his 
travels.  Behind  all  this  there  must  be  something 
very  wrong.  Moorhead  could  not  doubt  it,  and  it 
made  him  uneasy.  What  was  it  ? 

He  was  sitting  and  pondering,  for  lack  of  better 
employment,  on  this  question,  and  his  reverie  was  pro 
fusely  illustrated  with  mental  portraits  of  Leonora. 
(He  had  begun  to  take  the  liberty  of  thinking  of  her 
as  Leonora,  a  practice  he  would  have  condemned,  if  he 
had  caught  himself  at  it,  as  not  the  thing,  for  he  was, 
superficially,  a  devout  worshipper  of  the  Thing.) 

A  rustle  in  the  bushes  startled  him,  and  he  saw  her 
coming  out  of  the  woods,  erect  and  alert,  stepping 
lightly,  with  a  rifle  in  her  hand.  She  waved  her  hand 
to  him  with  a  gracious  gesture,  smiling,  and  called 
the  butler,  who  came  from  some  covert  where  he  had 
been  sawing  wood. 

"  You'll  find  a  mule-deer  on  the  upper  trail,  Moloch. 


42  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

Better  take  a  cayuse  with  you  to  bring  him  home. 
He  lies  right  by  the  big  laurel,  under  the  ledge." 

"Yes,  Miss  Leonora,"  said  Moloch,  touching  his 
grizzled  tuft  of  wool. 

Moorhead  was  wounded  again  in  his  sense  of  the 
fitness  of  things.  A  goddess  of  the  chase  is  all  very 
well  in  fable  or  marble,  but  a  girl  with  a  Winchester 
is  different,  and  he  thought  such  lips  would  be  better 
employed  .in  discussing  light  opera,  dress,  and  the 
character  of  a  neighbor  than  in  announcing  a  success 
ful  "kill "and  disposing  of  the  quarry,  and  that  a  fan 
would  become  the  little  hand  better  than  that  splendid 
instrument  of  death,  with  its  curiously  carved  stock 
and  heavy  gleaming  barrel  of  dark-blue  steel.  (The 
girls  of  Moorhead's  set  had  not  yet  gone  in  for  out 
door  sports  as  they  did  a  few  years  later,  or  he  might 
not  have  cared.)  However,  poor  thing,  she  was  not 
in  the  way  of  seeing  opera,  and  bad  no  neighbors  to 
discuss,  and  dress,  as  a  subject  of  conversation,  would 
be  thrown  away  in  such  a  wilderness.  As  for  the  rifle, 
it  was  her  means  of  marketing,  the  purse  that  fur 
nished  her  change  when  she  went  shopping.  Poor 
girl! 

Having  dismissed  Moloch  upon  his  errand,  she  came 
to  the  porch,  leaned  upon  the  objectionable  rifle,  and 
looked  critically  at  her  patient.  "You  are  much  bet 
ter,"  she  said,  approvingly.  "You  feel  so,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Thanks  to  your  care  and  hospitality,  Miss  Wil- 
loughby." 

"Your  voice  is  strong,"  she  said,  gleefully.  "I 
really  believe  you  are  well  enough  to  talk." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  he  said.     "  May  I  ?" 

"Yes,  you  may.     Please  do." 


LEONOKA  OF   THE  YAWMISH  43 

They  were  both  silent  awhile.  To  wish  to  be  al 
lowed  to  talk  is  one  tiling,  to  be  asked  to  talk  is 
another. 

"  Then/'  said  he,  "  I  shall  ask  questions." 

"  Oh  !  But  it  is  I  that  must  ask  questions/7  she 
said,  "and  you  will  be  able  to  answer  them  for  me. 
I  have  so  much  to  ask  !  Tell  me— tell  me  all  about 
the  world  beyond  the  woods." 

"  That  is  a  great  deal  to  tell  all  at  once/'  said  Moor- 
head,  somewhat  startled  by  this  wholesale  demand 
upon  his  stock  of  information.  "  And  the  world  is 
not  very  interesting.  To  me  your  life  here  in  the 
forest  seems  infinitely  more  worth  talking  about.'' 

"You  are  good  enough  to  say  so,"  she  said,  "but 
if  you  had  lived  here  always,  as  I  have,  it  might  not 
seem  so.  Besides,  you  can  see  what  there  is  here,  and 
I  have  seen  nothing  of  the  world  outside. '' 

"  Do  you  mean  you  have  really  lived  here  all  your 
life,  Miss  Willoughby?" 

"  All  my  life— and  I  so  long  to  hear  about  people 
and  places,  and  my  father  will  never  speak  of  them, 
and  Moloch  is  almost  as  bad.  If  I  ask  him  ques 
tions,  he  says,  '  I  dunno.  Ask  Mr.  Willoughby,  Miss 
Leonora.'  Now  I  have  you  to  tell  me  everything." 

Moorhead  looked  vexed.  It  was  more  clear  than 
ever  that  something  was  wrong  with  these  people. 
However,  there  was  something  attractive  in  instruct 
ing  the  quite  unenlightened  mind  of  so  fair  a  listener. 
What  is  more  delightful  than  a  good  audience  ? 

"  '  Everything '  is  a  good  deal,"  said  he — "more 
than  you  will  care  to  hear ;  but  I'll  do  my  best.  Where 
shall  I  begin  ?  At  the  creation  ?" 

She  looked  gravely  at  him,  and  her  eyes  darkened  a 


44  LEONORA   OF    THE   YAWMISH 

little.  "The  creation  is  a  solemn  thing/' said  she, 
"and  not  to  be  spoken  of  lightly." 

"I  beg  your  pardon/'  said  Moorhead. 

"  Yon  have  done  me  no  wrong/'  said  she. 

"  I  mean/'  said  he,  "  for  speaking,  in  your  presence, 
in  a  way  that  you  do  not  approve." 

"My  presence  and  approval  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it/' she  said.  "Well,  begin  with — the  cities — 
tell  me  about  cities."  Her  face  had  lost  its  grave  look, 
and  wore  the  expression  of  an  eager  child  waiting  for 
a  promised  story. 

"  The  cities,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause,  finding 
that  his  supply  of  information  on  the  subject  did  not 
flow  as  freely  as  might  have  been  expected.  "  Really, 
I — I  don't  know  that  there's  much  to  tell  about  the 
cities.  They  are  —  why,  cities  are  much  alike,  you 
know  !" 

Leonora  looked  disappointed.  "You  don't  seem  to 
understand,"  said  she.  "/  have  never  seen  a  city.  In 
the  first  place,  what  do  they  look  like  ?" 

He  tried  his  best  to  describe  a  city,  but,  not  know 
ing  very  well  where  to  begin,  where  to  end,  or  what 
to  say  between,  failed  dismally.  Try  to  describe  a 
city  yourself  to  some  one  who  has  never  seen  any, 
and  see  how  you  like  it. 

"  That  sounds  dreary,"  said  she.  "  But  then  the 
houses  are  very  beautiful,  many  of  them  ?  There  are 
the  churches,  the  theatres,  the  courts  of  justice,  the 
palaces — are  they  not  very  grand  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  some  of  them  ;  I  hardly  know  how  to 
describe  them.  Of  course,  houses  are  of  every  kind, 
from  little  shanties  that  are  just  enough  to  keep  the 
wind  and  rain  off  a  man's  head  as  he  sleeps,  to  great 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  45 

buildings  with  hundreds  of  rooms;  and  some  are 
bare  and  ugly,  and  some  are  adorned  with  all  that 
art  can  do  to  make  them  beautiful  —  pictures  and 
statues  and  splendid  architecure." 

Leonora  was  now  more  and  more  disappointed. 
" You  don't  tell  me  so  very  much/'  she  said.  "I  think 
I  can  imagine  a  city  for  myself,  as  far  as  the  build 
ings  go.  But  about  the  people — where  there  is  so 
much  to  do — 

"  Really/'  said  Moorhead,  in  despair,  "  I  believe 
you  were  right.  I  am  weak  still,  and  find  that  con 
versation  is  more  of  a  strain  than  I  had  expected.  By 
to-morrow  I  shall  be  better  able  to  go  on  with  the 
subject ;  and  meanwhile  I  will  think  things  over  and 
be  prepared  to  tell  you  what  will  interest  you." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  she  said.  "That  will  give  me 
great  pleasure.  I  am  sorry  for  having  tired  you  so 
with  my  questions.  Here  comes  Moloch,  and  I  must 
go  and  help  him  with  the  deer." 

Moloch  was  just  coming  from  the  woods  leading  a 
little  dappled  pony,  across  whose  back  lay  an  antlered 
buck  of  nearly  twice  its  size,  and  came  at  her  bid 
ding  to  show  the  quarry  to  Moorhead. 

"  You  killed  that  great  creature  all  yourself  ?"  said 
he. 

"  Yes." 

After  he  had  duly  admired  the  antlers  and  paid 
her  a  compliment  or  two  on  her  aim,  she  went  with 
Moloch  to  the  back  of  the  house,  where  he  heard  the 
two  busily  engaged  in  cutting  up  the  deer. 

"  I  never  expected,"  said  he,  "  to  have  to  begin 
at  the  beginning  and  tell  her  everything.  How  piti 
fully  ignorant  she  is  !  And  how  am  I  to  do  it  ?" 


46  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  ' 

However,  he  felt  that  the  opportunity  of  addressing 
such  an  audience  was  too  good  to  be  wasted,  and  for 
the  rest  of  the  afternoon  he  amused  himself  preparing 
the  morrow's  lecture,  so  that  when  the  time  came, 
and  Leonora  presented  herself,  with  the  same  child 
like  eagerness  she  had  shown  on  the  day  before,  she 
should  find  him  ready. 

He  knew  his  Baedeker  pretty  well,  and  if  where 
the  facts  seem  too  insipid  he  did  not  hesitate  to  fla 
vor  them  with  an  occasional  touch  of  romance,  it 
was  only  to  please  his  listener — an  object  which  it 
did  not  fail  to  accomplish,  for  he  had  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  her  smile  every  now  and  then  with  evident 
pleasure  as  she  sat  drinking  in  his  words.  After  the 
first  shock  was  over  he  rather  enjoyed  her  ignorance, 
as  it  gave  him  a  chance  to  be  patronizing,  and  he 
dearly  loved  to  patronize.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
the  wronders  of  modern  invention  would  be  a  fertile 
topic,  and  susceptible  of  artistic  coloring. 

"The  magic  we  read  about  and  don't  believe  in- 
all  superstition,  you  know — of  course — "  he  began. 

"What  is  superstition?"  the  simple  maiden  in 
quired. 

"Why — er — superstition  is — well,  believing  in  what 
isn't  true,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  then,  if  you  happened  to  be  telling  me  what 
was  not  exactly  true,  I  should  be  superstitious  in  be 
lieving  it  ?" 

"N — no— not  exactly  superstitious.  It's  hard  to 
explain  precisely  what  superstition  means." 

"  You  were  saying,"  said  she,  after  a  pause,  "  some 
thing  about  magic.  I  have  heard  of  magic.  Moloch 
tells  me  stories  in  the  winter  evenings — stories  of  en- 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  47 

chantments— of  witches  and  strange  things  that  hap 
pen—" 

"Yet  there  are  stranger  things  than  enchant 
ments/'  said  he.  "  There  is  the  locomotive — the  iron 
horse  that  draws  a  train  of  houses  on  wheels — a  sort 
of  rolling  village — for  thousands  of  miles  at  such  a 
pace  that  if  a  man  jumps  off  while  it  is  going  he  is 
likely  to  be  killed — the  creature  whose  life  is  fire  and 
whose  breath  is  steam — who  may  be  inspired  to  life 
and  gigantic  strength  at  the  will  of  a  man  or  put  to 
sleep  indefinitely  merely  by  kindling  or  putting  out 
the  fire — 

"I  had  heard  of  railways/''  said  she.  "Have  you 
seen  them,  and  are  such  things  really  possible  ?" 

"There  are  engines  more  wonderful  still,"  said  he. 
"  They  carve  and  weave  and  work  in  metal,  doing 
the  labor  of  thousands  without  weariness,  and  with 
such  swiftness  and  accuracy  that  no  quantity  of 
human  hands  could  equal  the  results.  Yet  they 
obey  the  touch  of  a  man's  hand.  And  what  should 
you  say  of  an  enchanter  who  could  chain  the  light 
ning  and  make  it  do  his  bidding  ?  Light  the  cities 
at  night,  so  that  one  can  read  in  the  streets  ?  Send 
the  thoughts  of  one  person  to  another  hundreds  of 
miles  away  in  a  few  minutes  ?  Drive  great  cars  full 
of  people  about  the  streets,  on  regular  lines,  open  to 
all,  so  that  even  the  poorest  may  ride  to  their  work 
faster  than  horses  could  carry  them  ?" 

Here  he  stopped,  delighted  with  his  flight  of  fancy 
in  describing  the  prosaic  electric  cars,  to  watch  the 
effect. 

"Oh  !"  said  Leonora,  "tell  me  more  !" 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  photograph  ?"  said  he. 


48  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

"What  is  a  photograph  ?" 

"  A  sort  of  picture.  There  is  a  kind  of  little  box 
called  a  camera,,  with  a  sort  of  eye  in  one  end.  The 
man  who  knows  how  to  use  it  turns  its  eye  upon 
some  person  or  object,  touches  a  spring,  and  there  is 
a  perfect  picture  of  the  person  or  object,  line  for  line, 
which  by  chemical  process  may  be  printed  on  paper, 
and  reproduced  again  and  again." 

Leonora  looked  up  with  eyes  that  sparkled  with  de 
light.  "  Are  you  telling  me  the  very  truth  ?"  she 
asked.  "Do  they  really  have  such  wonders  in  the 
great  cities  ?" 

"The  very  truth." 

"You  are  not  taking  advantage  of  my  ignorance  ?" 
she  said,  with  evident  anxiety. 

"  Indeed,  I  am  not,"  said  he. 

"Then  I  must  believe  you.  How  sad  it  is,"  she 
said,  thoughtfully,  and  regarding  Moorhead  with  deep, 
pensive  eyes,  "that  sometimes  the  boiler  bursts,  or 
the  safety-valve  refuses  to  work,  or  the  wire  breaks,  or 
the  fuse  burns  out,  or  the  trolley  comes  off,  or  the 
slide  of  the  camera  gets  out  of  order  !  Isn't  it,  Mr. 
Moorhead  ?" 

It  is  one  thing  to  instruct  a  fresh,  ingenuous  mind 
in  the  wonders  of  the  world ;  another  to  be  led  into 
holding  forth  for  hours  in  minute  detail  on  trite  and 
familiar  subjects. 

The  change  from  the  pleasure  of  the  former  posi 
tion  to  the  awkwardness  of  the  latter  was  too  much 
for  Moorhead,  who  felt  as  if  he  had  been  invited  to 
sit  in  a  chair  of  state,  and  had  had  it  pulled  away 
and  sat  on  the  floor  instead.  If  Leonora  had  suddenly 
drawn  a  revolver  on  him  he  could  have  forgiven  it,  as 


LEONORA  OP   THE   YAWMISH  49 

in  keeping  with  her  environment ;  but  that  she  should 
make  fun  of  him  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 
Leonora  was  smiling,  and  presently  spoke  : 

"  'These  things  to  hear 
Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline  : 
But  still  the  house  affairs  would  draw  her  thence ; 
Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  despatch, 
She'd  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear 
Devour  up  my  discourse. 


My  story  being  done, 

She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  world  of  sighs  : 
She  swore— In  faith,'  twas  strange,  'twas  passing  strange  ; 
'Twas  pitiful,  'twas  wondrous  pitiful ; 
She  wish'd  she  had  not  heard  it — : 

Moorhead  drew  himself  up  in  wrath.  Had  he  been 
a  lady  it  might  be  said  that  he  "bridled." 

"I  owe  you  a  humble  apology/'  he  said,  stiffly  and 
testily.  "Of  course,  I  was  not  aware  of  the  extent 
of  your  information.  I  tried,  at  your  request,  to 
interest  yon;  but  I  fear  I  have  bored  you  extremely. 
You  might  have  spared  me  the  quotation,,  however, 
and  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  have  been  allowed 
to  go  on  all  this  time  under  the  impression  that  what 
I  was  saying  was  new  to  you." 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  it  has  all  been  very  interesting 
and  amusing,"  said  she. 

"  Very  likely,"  said  he. 

"Why,  I  believe,"  said  she,  wide-eyed  and  sur 
prised — "I  believe  you  are  really — angry  !" 

He  made  no  answer. 

"  It  was  a  pity  to  tease  you,"  she  said.     "  I  am 

,  4 


50  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISII 

sorry  ;  I  had  no  idea  you  would  mind.  You  didn't 
quite  understand  me  when  I  asked  you  about  the 
world  outside  ;  I  didn't  mean  the  kind  of  things  you 
have  been  telling  me.  Of  course,  I  know  all  that ; 
but  how  shall  I  make  you  see  what  I  mean  ?  Things 
that  one  would  not  learn  without  seeing  them  and 
living  there.  So,  when  you  began  to  tell  me  just  the 
things  that  I  can  get  out  of  books  I  was  disappoint 
ed  ;  and  when  you  took  it  for  granted  that  I  was  so 
utterly  ignorant  I  thought  I'd  just  listen  and  let  you 
keep  on  thinking  so  awhile  and  hear  what  you'd  say. 
I  am  sorry,  very  sorry,  if  you  are  vexed." 

"  Oh,  don't  mention  it !"  said  he,  snapping  out  his 
words  so  crossly  that  after  one  steady  look  of  surprise, 
with  parted  lips  and  lifted  brows,  she  turned  away 
and  left  him  alone  with  his  broken  temper. 

Moorhead  was  full  of  small  conceit,  and  could  not 
bear  being  made  ridiculous  in  his  own  eyes,  to  which 
her  explanation,  gracious  and  humble  as  it  was,  did 
not  make  him  look  any  better.  He  passed  a  wretched 
afternoon. 

The  saddest  worm  that  crawls  upon  the  earth  is 
the  man  that  cannot  take  a  joke. 


VII 


THE  next  morning  Moorhead  woke  up  with  a  feel 
ing  that  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself.  He  rose 
and  dressed,  and  Moloch  brought  him  his  breakfast  as 
usual.  While  he  was  eating  it  Mr.  Willoughby  made 
him  a  short  visit,  pipe  in  hand. 

"  You  must  find  it  very  dull  here,  Mr.  Moorhead," 
said  he. 

"  On  the  contrary,  sir,  I  think  it  the  most  delight 
ful  place  I  have  ever  seen." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby.  "  Its  charm  for 
me  lies  in  its  seclusion.  The  absence  of  the  human 
race  is  enough  to  make  the  most  desolate  desert  at 
tractive.  Here  we  have  solitude  in  its  perfection- 
unutterable  grandeur  and  beauty  about  us — the  gifts 
of  nature  bestowed  with  a  lavish  hand.  But  the  soli 
tude  is  the  sweetest  gift  of  all." 

"Yet  you  must  find  it  dreary  sometimes  without 
neighbors." 

<e  Neighbors,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "are  of  three 
kinds  :  friends,  enemies,  and  strangers.  Which  do 
you  prefer  ?" 

"  Friends,  by  all  means,"  said  Moorhead. 

"  I  cannot  agree  with  you.  Strangers,  while  they 
remain  so,  go  about  their  business  and  do  not  meddle. 
They  expect  nothing  of  you,  and  you  nothing  of  them 
in  return.  They  are  independent  of  you,  and  allow 


52  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

yon  to  be  independent  of  them.  The  only  question 
is,,  how  long  will  a  stranger  remain  so  ?  For  every 
stranger  may  become  a  friend  or  enemy  at  any  time. 
Meanwhile,  it  is  hard  to  find  their  raison  d'etre,  and  to 
see  them  about  is  rather  a  nuisance  than  otherwise." 

"  I  agree  with  you  in  regard  to  strangers,  Mr.  Wil- 
loughby,"  said  Moorhead.  "  They  are  not  useful, 
and  are,  as  a  rule,  unpleasant  —  people  one  doesn't 
know.  But  why  prefer  them  to  friends  ?" 

"  Friends  ?  People  who  force  upon  you  attentions, 
of  which  they  have  no  means  of  knowing  whether 
they  will  be  acceptable  or  not,  even  if  they  took  the 
pains  to  try  to  find  out,  and  who  expect,  in  return, 
that  you  shall  know  and  do  and  say  exactly  what  will 
be  agreeable  to  them  ;  who  advise  you  about  your 
affairs ;  who  amuse  themselves  by  talking  about  and 
interfering  with  your  private  concerns  and  call  it 
' sympathy';  who  watch  your  actions  and  pass  judg 
ment  upon  them  and  call  it  f friendly  interest';  who 
say  behind  your  back  what  they  dare  not  say  to  your 
face  and  call  it ' politeness,'  or  who  take  upon  them 
selves  to  find  fault  with  you  and  call  it '  kindness' ; 
who  exact  a  return  for  all  they  force  upon  you,  and 
if  it  be  not  forthcoming,  or  if  it  be  unsatisfactory, 
revile  you  to  others  as  ungrateful,  unfriendly,  or  stu 
pid  ;  who  profess  a  liking  for  you,  and  as  its  price 
assume  a  familiarity  with  you  and  a  right  to  your 
services  ?  These  are  friends  !  They  have  one  nega 
tive  sort  of  virtue." 

' '  What  is  that  ?"  Moorhead  asked. 

"  That  is,  that  as  soon  as  you  are  unable  through 
any  cause,  such  as  poverty  or  other  misfortune,  to  re 
turn  in  kind  the  obligations  they  have  forced  upon 


LEONORA  OF   THE   YAWMISII  53 

yon,  they  consider  themselves  at  liberty  to  drop  your 
acquaintance  and  become  either  strangers  or  enemies. 
I  speak  of  the  majority ;  I  do  not  deny  that  there  are 
exceptions.  But  they  are  too  few  and  far  between  to 
make  it  worth  a  man's  while  to  spend  his  life  in  seek 
ing  them  ;  and  if  he  does  so,  he  will  meet  with  disap 
pointments  enough  to  outweigh  a  hundredfold  the 
few  cases  of  true  faith  between  man  and  man  that  he 
may  find.  If  that  is  not  so,  the  world  has  changed 
since  I  knew  it.  How  many  men  do  you  suppose  have 
been  betrayed  by  enemies  in  comparison  with  those 
who  have  been  betrayed  by  their  friends  ?" 

"  Then,  on  the  whole,  you  prefer  enemies  ?" 

"Ah!  But  a  real  enemy  is  a  rare  thing.  So  few 
dare  be  enemies  outright !  Yes  !  an  enemy  is  one's 
acknowledged  opponent  in  the  game  of  life  ;  he  has 
the  merit  of  being  interesting  at  least.  And,  let  him 
do  his  worst,  he  cannot  injure  a  man  as  his  friend 
can.  Pardon  me,  I  have  said  enough  to  tire  you. 
You  are  gaining  strength  ?" 

"Very  fast,  thanks  to  your  kindness/' said  Moor- 
head. 

"  Good.  You  will  be  able  to  travel  soon.  Good- 
morning." 

He  went  away,  leaving  his  guest  to  wonder  what 
was  his  grudge  against  the  human  race,  and  whether 
he  himself  was  regarded  as  a  stranger,  an  enemy,,  or, 
that  objectionable  thing,  a  friend.  From  the  father 
his  thoughts  soon  turned  to  the  daughter.  He  hoped 
Leonora  would  come,  but  soon  he  saw  her  walking 
fully  armed  into  the  woods,  and  he  found  himself  in 
penitence,  condemned  to  expiate  yesterday's  ill-temper 
by  a  lonely  morning. 


54  LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISH 

He  sat  some  hours  smoking,  and  reading  a  book  he 
had  found  in  his  room.  It  was  not  a  very  interesting 
book,  and  his  thoughts  kept  wandering  away  after 
Leonora. 

Mr.  Willoughby  had  gone  fishing;  Moloch's  axe 
could  be  heard  in  the  woods  beyond  the  river. 

Moorhead  became  restless,  and  the  spell  of  languor 
that  had  held  him  since  his  illness — the  sleepy  influ 
ence  of  the  forest — was  broken. 

He  walked  out  into  the  sunlight.  The  house  stood  on 
a  small  plateau,  carefully  cleared  of  all  undergrowth, 
and  shaded  by  several  immense  cedars  and  a  cotton- 
wood,  whose  boughs,  nearly  meeting  across  it,  made  a 
changing  network  of  light  and  shade  on  the  ground. 

There  was  a  broad  level  space  of  well-kept  grass, 
and  garden-beds  in  which  grew  native  flowers  and 
others  not  indigenous  to  the  valley.  The  harebells, 
primroses,  and  blossoming  shrubs  of  the  mountains, 
the  lilies,  and  blue  and  yellow  violets  from  wood  and 
marsh,  sweetbrier,  and  wild  geranium  mingled  their 
sweetness  with  that  of  red  and  white  garden  -  roses, 
carnation,  tulip,  poppy,  cardinal,  and  columbine. 

The  house,  built  of  cedar  logs  split  smooth  and 
square,  overlapping  at  the  corners,  the  interstices 
filled  in  with  moss  and  clay,  consisted  of  three  long, 
low  cabins,  the  two  smaller  ones  projecting  backward 
from  the  larger  and  higher,  so  as  to  form  a  quadrangle. 
All  about  it  was  a  broad  covered  veranda,  roofed,  like 
the  house,  with  cedar  shakes  and  curtained  with  wood 
bine  and  ivy,  which  parted  in  the  form  of  a  Norman 
arch  at  the  front. 

Moorhead  walked  about  it.  At  the  back  were  vari 
ous  small  out-buildings — a  hay-shed,  a  tiny  stable  (with 


LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISII  55 

five  stalls  for  the  winter  use  of  the  pack-ponies,  which 
were  allowed  in  summer  to  roam  the  valley  at  will),  a 
hen-house,  and  a  cow-shed. 

A  kitchen-garden  grew  in  a  corner  of  the  clearing 
with  a  rank  luxuriance  of  vegetables. 

Moorhead  walked  round  to  the  front  and  looked  up 
through  the  arch  of  vines.  The  door  stood  open.  He 
hesitated  a  moment,  then,  overcome  by  his  desire  to 
know  more  of  these  people  and  their  life,  went  up 
the  steps,  knocked  (as  a  matter  of  form,  for  he  knew 
there  was  no  one  there),  and  went  in. 

Coming  from  the  very  edge  of  the  wild  woods,  he 
found  himself  in  a  long,  low  hall,  among  pictures, 
beautifully  embroidered  fabrics,  rich  furs,  stately 
antlers,  furniture  whose  woodwork  was  a  series  of 
grotesque  carvings  that  showed  the  mark  of  rare 
genius,  pretty  things  of  every  shape  and  kind  here 
and  there,  and — books. 

The  wall,  for  the  height  of  seven  feet  from  the 
floor,  was  lined  with  books,  on  cedar  shelves  whose 
edges  were  carved  in  a  delicate  pattern  of  running 
ivy,  broken  here  and  there  by  queer  little  faces  that 
looked  out  between  the  leaves. 

Moorhead  was  no  judge  of  books,  but  even  he  could 
tell  that  many  of  the  volumes  were  rare  and  costly, 
that  the  editions  were  such  as  the  heart  of  the  book 
man  yearns  over,  that  the  library  was  that  of  a  reader 
who  loved  books  for  themselves  and  for  what  was  in 
them.  Many  lay  011  the  tables  and  chairs — not  as  if 
carelessly  left  there,  but  in  a  way  that  denoted  recent 
and  scholarly  use,  and  nearly  all  had  book-marks  be 
tween  the  leaves  in  several  places. 

Above  the  shelves  the  wall  was  devoted  to  orna- 


56  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

ment.  It  was  covered  with  buckskin,,  embroidered 
on  the  upper  border  with  a  broad  stripe,  of  a  pattern 
similar  to  that  of  the  carving  on  the  edges  of  the 
shelves — ivy,  with  odd  faces  peering  out.  Below 
this  border  it  was  thickly  adorned  with  pictures — 
water-colors  and  crayons  made  with  more  than  skill — 
and  all  of  scenes  chosen  from  the  most  perfect  spots 
of  that  wonderful  region  ;  little  nooks  where  the 
water  lay  among  the  trees  and  reflected  the  delicate 
ferns  about  its  margin  and  the  boughs  above  ;  tower 
ing  rocks;  a  startled  deer  just  rising  from  his  mossy 
covert ;  an  eagle  sitting  on  the  blasted  top  of  a  dead 
fir.  And  there  were  portraits,  in  which  Moorhead 
saw  the  face  of  Mr.  Willoughby  in  the  strength  and 
beauty  of  early  manhood,  the  budding  promise  of 
Leonora's  grace  and  loveliness,  the  shiny-black  counte 
nance  of  Moloch  grinning  with  pleasure.  The  other 
portrait,  by  a  somewhat  less  skilful  hand,  was  the 
face  of  a  lady  he  had  never  seen — a  delicate,  sweet, 
piquant  face  of  singular  beauty,  and  bearing  a  strong 
though  hardly  definable  resemblance  to  Leonora. 
Between  these  pictures  the  furs  of  small  animals  and 
the  wings  of  birds  were  spread  flat  on  the  yellow 
surface  of  the  buckskin — mink  and  young  beaver, 
wildcat,  marten,  black  squirrel,  jay,  blue  grouse  and 
ruffed  grouse,  white  ptarmigan  from  the  peaks,  and 
water-fowl  of  many  kinds  and  colors.  A  noble  pair 
of  elk-antlers  graced  either  end  of  the  hall,  and  one 
grander  still  lifted  its  graceful  strength  above  the 
immense  fireplace  opposite  the  front  door. 

There  were  two  other  doorways,  one  at  each  end  of 
the  back  of  the  room,  leading  respectively  into  the 
two  wings,  and  curtained  with  heavy  dark  -  green 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISII  57 

portieres  embroidered  in  dull  gold  and  crimson. 
Along  the  upper  shelf  of  the  bookcases  were  in 
numerable  pretty  knickknacks,  evidence  of  wealth, 
travel,  and  exquisite  taste  ;  and  rifles  of  various  work 
manship,  revolvers,  knives,  and  a  great  array  of  large- 
bowled,  long-stemmed  pipes  hung  from  the  prongs  of 
the  antlers. 

The  ceiling  was  of  polished  cedar,  supported  on 
mighty  beams  of  the  same.  From  the  central  rafter 
hung  three  lamps— a  large  one  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  a  lesser  one  at  either  end. 

The  floor  also  was  of  polished  cedar,  but  of  a  lighter 
tint  and  harder  grain  than  that  of  the  ceiling,  and 
was  almost  covered  with  the  skins  of  beasts.  One 
immense  black  bear-skin  with  head  and  claws  lay  in 
the  centre  with  two  smaller  ones  at  each  side,  form 
ing  a  line  from  end  to  end.  Before  each  door  lay  a 
skin  of  the  gray  timber -wolf,  silvery  in  its  winter 
prime. 

The  chairs  and  tables  were  made  of  the  gnarled  and 
twisted  limbs  of  trees,  deftly  joined;  and  the  feet 
and  every  knob  and  projection  were  carveii  into  the 
semblance  of  claws  or  faces  or  leaves,  each  without 
regard  to  the  rest,  but  according  to  the  fancy  its 
original  shape  had  suggested  to  the  workman's  quaint 
imagination. 

There  were  lounges  and  great  arm-chairs,  covered 
with  padded  skins,  and  several  long,  yellow  cougar- 
skins  finely  cured,  lying  loose  on  the  backs.  There 
were  lighter  chairs  whose  backs  and  seats  were  made 
of  the  broad  white,  thick  feathered  breasts  of  loon 
and  wild-goose,  and  whose  upper  knobs  were  carved 
with  birds'  heads,  whose  feet  ended  in  birds'  claws. 


58  LEONORA  OF   THE   YAWMISH 

Under  the  central  lamp  was  an  oblong  table,  of 
yellow  cedar  smooth  as  a  mirror,,  littered  with  many 
things. 

The  small  and  portable  articles  in  the  room  were  of 
many  lands  and  varied  workmanship — of  bronze  and 
wood  and  silver.  The  larger  were  all  of  such  material 
as  the  forest  and  its  wild  things  supplied,  and  evidently 
home-made,  though  with  skill  and  taste  little  short  of 
genius. 

A  rough  stone  six  feet  square — evidently  a  rock 
that  had  stood  there  with  its  foundations  in  the  earth, 
and  about  which  the  house  had  been  built,  for  110 
power  these  people  could  have  had  at  command  would 
have  stirred  it — formed  the  hearth,  and  the  fireplace 
upon  it  was  a  very  cavern  for  size  and  depth,  of  big, 
rough  stones  cemented  with  clay  that  had  baked  into 
brick. 

There  was  no  need  of  fires  there  through  the  long 
summer,  so  the  rock  within  was  covered  with  living 
moss  and  clumps  of  fern  such  as  love  the  shade,  and 
purple  violets  were  planted  there,  transforming  the 
rugged  hollow  into  a  grotto  fit  for  a  fairy  hermit. 

Moorhead  stood  awhile  gazing  about  him,  lost  at 
first  in  admiration  of  the  effect  of  the  whole,  and 
then  began  to  examine  singly  with  a  curious  eye  the 
various  things  that  went  to  make  it  up,  quite  for 
getting  that  he  was  a  trespasser,  and  staring  like  a 
child  in  a  museum. 

He  wondered  more  than  ever  who  and  what  these 
people  were. 

"  Surely,"  he  thought,  "no  ordinary  circumstances 
compel  them  to  stay  here  beyond  the  reach  of  civili 
zation.  It  cannot  be  poverty,  for  these  books — those 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH  59 

ornaments — are  a  fortune  in  themselves  and  have 
been  brought  from  all  lands.  It  is  not  ignorance, 
certainly.  And  yet  they  have  lived  here  long — 
everything  shows  long  occupancy;  that  carving  of 
native  wood  is  the  work  of  years.  This  is  no  mere 
summer  camp,  but  a  home  —  such  a  home  as  only 
long  living  can  make,  but  not  the  home  of  people 
who  belong  to  such  a  place.  I  don't  understand  it." 

He  had  thought  it  all  over  and  had  concluded  that 
the  old  man  must  have  committed  some  crime  and 
hidden  himself  here  to  avoid  its  consequences,  when 
he  was  suddenly  aware  of  a  presence  near  at  hand. 

There  stood  Mr.  Willoughby,  his  great  frame  nearly 
filling  the  doorway,  saying  nothing  and  watching  him 
with  a  very  unpleasant  expression. 

"Oh!  Mr.  Willoughby!"  said  Moorhead. 

The  old  gentleman  stood  silent,  waiting  for  him  to 
finish  whatever  he  might  have  to  say,  and,  when  he 
could  think  of  nothing  apt  and  had  grown  as  uncom 
fortable  as  a  man  may  be,  remarked,  dryly,  "Do  you 
find  what  you  look  for  ?" 

"  I — I  wasn't  looking  for  anything,  Mr.  Willough 
by,"  said  Moorhead.  "  I — knocked,  and  there  was 
nobody  at  home  ;  so  I — er — 

"  So  you  accepted  my  daughter's  invitation  and 
made  yourself  at  home  ?" 

"  I — er — Miss  Willoughby  didn't  invite  me,"  said 
Moorhead,  wondering  why  he  said  it,  for  he  was  not 
of  a  frank  nature  and  would  usually  have  thought  a 
confession  quite  needless.  But  he  was  afraid  of  the 
old  gentleman  in  a  way  and  told  the  truth  without 
thinking. 

"  Pardon,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby.     "  You  forget,  of 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 


course,,  my  daughter  asked  you  in,  or  you  would  not 
have  come.  Will  you  sit  down  ?" 

Moorhead  sat  down,  and  Mr.  Willoughby  remained 
standing  in  the  doorway. 

"You  have  a  great  many  books,"  said  Moorhead. 

"  I  have  not  counted  them/7  said  Mr.  Willoughby. 

"  And  some  very  valuable  ones,"  said  Moorhead. 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  Mr.  Willonghby.  "  I  hadn't  ap 
praised  them." 

The  old  gentleman's  manner  and  tone  were  pain 
fully  polite  and  by  no  means  cordial.  Moorhead  tried 
again. 

"  What  a  beautiful  home  you  have,  and  what  a  pity 
so  few  people  can  see  it  I" 

"Why?" 

"  Because,  when  one  is  surrounded  with  delight 
ful  possessions  there  is  a  pleasure  in  showing  them 
to  one's  neighbors',  I  think  ;  that  is,  sympathy  in  en 
joyment  is  as  necessary  as  sympathy  in  pain." 

"As  to  neighbors,  I  fear  I  cannot  agree  with  you," 
said  Mr.  Willoughby.  "As  to  sympathy,  I  don't  know 
that  it  is  necessary  in  any  case.  At  all  events,  I  should 
have  no  pleasure  in  playing  the  showman — in  my  own 
home,  of  all  places.  If  your  chair  is  uncomfortable, 
pray  take  another."  Moorhead,  by  dint  of  repeated 
snubs,  was  beginning  to  show  signs  of  uneasiness. 

"  Thank  you.  I  believe  I  will  go  to  the  room  you 
have  kindly  put  at  my  disposal,"  said  he,  and  was 
glad  to  be  out  of  his  unpleasant  position. 

That  evening  Leonora  came  to  him  and  asked  him 
to  join  them  at  dinner.  He  would  have  excused  him 
self,  fearing  the  old  gentleman's  inhospitable  de 
meanor,  but  remembered  that  he  had  no  choice  and 


LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISH  61 

could  not  very  well  refuse.  His  fears,  to  his  great 
relief,  were  ill-founded.  Mr.  Willoughby  said  nothing 
unpleasant,  and  Leonora  was  a  charming  hostess. 

Dinner  was  served  on  the  veranda.  Moloch  had 
abandoned  his  usual  blue  overalls  and  flannel  shirt 
for  a  suit  of  decent  black  and  white  collar  and  tie, 
and  waited  on  the  table  with  the  air  of  a  promoter  of 
state  banquets. 

The  dinner  was  delicious,  and  after  it  Leonora  asked 
him  to  stay ;  and,  finding  he  could  sing,  accompanied 
him  sweetly  with  voice  and  guitar  under  the  summer 
moon. 

When  they  parted  for  the  night  Mr.  Willoughby 
said,  "Now  that  you  are  well  enough,  pray  be  the 
guest  of  our  house  and  table,  Mr.  Moorhead,  while  you 
stay."  And  so  it  was  until  he  went  away  from  the 
valley. 

When  he  had  gone  Leonora  said,  "  Thank  you, 
father  mine  ;  that  was  right.  I  know  how  you  hate 
any  invasion  of  our  home  ;  but  since  a  guest  has  been 
thrown  helpless  at  our  door  it  would  be  a  shame  not 
to  treat  him  like  a  guest/' 

"That  shall  be  as  you  will,  my  girl ;  you  are  mis 
tress  of  my  house.  But  I  wish  you  could  have  seen 
him  when  I  found  him  prying  about  our  hearth.  It 
was  very  amusing — to  me." 

(t  I'm  sorry  you  treated  him  coldly,"  said  she.  "He 
has  been  made  dependent  on  us  for  the  present  by  his 
misfortune — " 

"  Our  misfortune,"  said  the  old  man. 

"And  to  make  him  feel  that  we  do  not  want  him 
here,  and  that  he  is  a  nuisance,  seems  to  be  unworthy 
of  you." 


62  LBONOKA  OF   THE  YAWMISI1 

"Really,  I  don't  think  I  treated  him  ill,"  said  Mr. 
Willoughby.  "  I  found  him  in  the  house,  and  he  had 
not  been  asked  to  come  there.  That  was  an  awkward 
predicament,  for  which  he  had  only  himself  to  blame. 
I  not  only  abstained  from  any  embarrassing  questions — 
such  as  asking  what  he  meant  by  it — but  I  invented 
an  excuse  for  him.  I  told  him  you  had  invited  him, 
and  when  he  said  you  had  not,  I  insisted  that  you 
must  have  done  so,  and  that  he  must  have  forgotten 
since  he  had  passed  the  door." 

"Father!"  said  Leonora,  reproachfully,  "why  did 
you  say  such  a  thing  as  that  ?" 

"To  put  him  at  his  ease,  dear,"  said  Mr.  "\Vil- 
loughby.  "That's  what  they  call  it  in  the  civilized 
world  you  admire  so  much  from  a  distance." 

"Please,  after  this  be  pleasant  to  him,"  said  she, 
rather  crossly.  "  Remember  he's  our  guest." 

"Very  well,  dear,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby,  meekly. 
"Fll  try,"  and  betook  himself  to  his  books. 


VIII 


THE  days  passed  sweetly  in  the  valley. 

Moorhead  began  to  grow  strong  and  enjoy  himself, 
not  the  less  perhaps  that  he  saw  but  little  of  Mr. 
Willoughby,  before  whom  he  was  never  quite  at  ease. 

The  old  gentleman  had  a  quiet  way  of  looking  down 
from  a  superior  height.,  both  of  mind  and  body,  that 
greatly  irritated  a  young  fellow  who  liked  to  be  im 
portant  and  was  used  to  being  made  much  of  in  his 
own  world. 

Moorhead  knew  that  he  was  tall,  as  men  go — the 
old  gentleman  towered  above  him  ;  he  was  considered 
well  informed — his  host  was  a  man  of  deep  learning ; 
he  liked  to  hold  himself  a  wit — but  his  sayings  always 
seemed  to  him  flat  and  trivial  in  Mr.  'Willoughby's 
presence  ;  he  was  proud  of  his  manner  —  but  Mr. 
Willoughby,  with  all  his  bluntness  and  eccentricity, 
had  a  certain  "grand  air"  in  all  he  said  and  did  that 
made  mere  manner  seem  cheap  and  poor. 

Moorhead,  who  could  not  bear  feeling  small, 
dreaded  him  extremely,  and  was  thankful  that  his 
habit  of  seclusion  and  study  kept  him  away  by  the 
riverside  or  held  him  to  his  books. 

One  day,  nearly  meeting  him  on  the  river-trail, 
Moorhead  took  to  cover  to  avoid  him,  and  was  uneasy 
at  the  approach  of  meal-times,  because  he  must  meet 
him  at  the  table. 


64  LEONORA  OP   THE   YAWMISH 

With  Leonora  he  got  on  well.  They  were  much 
together,  and  the  better  he  knew  her  the  more  he  felt 
the  charm  of  her  sweetness.  He  soon  discovered  that 
he  spent  most  of  his  time  in  thinking  of  Leonora. 
Nor  could  his  mind  have  had  a  more  delightful  guest. 
Soon  he  found  that  he  was  constantly  seeking  her 
presence — that  he  was  more  unhappy  in  her  absence 
than  mere  ennui  would  have  made  him. 

One  day  he  was  reading.  His  book  did  not  inter 
est  him.  He  kept  losing  his  place.  He  realized  that 
he  was  very  uncomfortable,  and,  being  given  to  self- 
analysis,  less  with  a  view  to  improvement  than  to 
pleasure,  he  put  down  the  book  and  set  to  work  to 
find  what  ailed  him.  Such  diagnosis  usually  result 
ed  in  the  discovery  that  he  was  bored,  and  by  Avay  of 
cure  he  would  prescribe  himself  change  of  scene. 

This  time  his  favorite  remedy  was  loathsome  to 
his  taste  ;  he  hated  the  very  thought  of  going  away. 
He  soon  found  that  he  had  only  one  wish,  and  its 
name  was  Leonora. 

When  a  young  man  discovers  that  he  is  in  love 
he  generally  hails  the  fact  with  rapture,  but  Moor- 
head  was  peculiar ;  so,  instead  of  offering  himself 
hearty  congratulations,  he  admonished  himself,  as  a 
father  might  a  froward  son  who  had  become  enam 
oured  of  some  undesirable  person. 

"The  deuce!"  said  he.  "This  is  very  awkward. 
Who  is  she  ?  What  is  she  ?  What  is  that  mysterious 
old  father  of  hers,  and  why  does  he  hide  himself  out 
here  ?"  "And  yet,"  he  said,  in  reply,  "I  cannot  be 
happy  without  her."  "  Then  wait,  and  find  out  her 
antecedents."  He  would  not  make  an  unconventional 
marriage.  At  last  he  went  so  far  as  to  allow  himself 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  65 

to  hope  that  Leonora  might  prove  a  suitable  match, 
and  then  set  himself  to  find  out. 

"Why/"  said  he  to  Moloch  one  day,  overcoming 
his  scruples  so  far  as  to  ask  questions  of  an  avowed 
butler — "why  does  Mr.  Willoughby  live  out  here, 
Moloch,  away  from  humanity  and  civilization  ?" 

"I  ain't  sure,  sah,  that  I  ought  to  answer  personal 
questions  'bout  my  'steemed  employah,  sah  ;  an'  he 
ain't  took  me  into  his  confidence.  But  I  will  say, 
sah,  that  I  have  my  own  ideas  on  the  subjec'." 

"  And  what  are  they,  Moloch  ?  Has  he  any  special 
reason  ?" 

"Well,  sah,"  said  the  butler,  with  the  air  of  one 
who  weighs  his  words,  "the  result  of  my  observations 
on  the  mattah  am  that  Mr.  Willoughby  have  a  reason, 
but  I  don't  know  that  I  am  at  liberty  to  divulge  it, 
sah." 

"I  am  a  friend — the  friend — of  the  family,  Moloch. 
You  surely  do  not  think  I  ask  out  of  mere  curiosity 
or  that  I  should  betray  your  confidence  ?" 

"Well,  sah,  I'm  inclined  to  think  Mr.  Willoughby 
stays  here — because  he  wants  to." 

"  But  what  makes  him  want  to  ?" 

"  That,"  said  the  Ethiop,  blandly,  "  am  a  thing  that 
am  proVly  unknown  to  Mr.  Willoughby  himself." 

So  Moorhead  gave  up  Moloch,  andt  summoning  up 
all  his  courage,  put  the  question  directly  to  the  old 
gentleman,  in  person. 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  he,  "  why  a  man  of  your  attain 
ments  shuts  himself  up  from  the  world,  to  the  mutual 
disadvantage  of  the  world  and  himself,  and  spends 
his  life  in  this  secluded  place  ?" 

Mr.  Willoughby  looked  benevolently  at  the  young 


66  LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISII 

man  for  a  moment.  "Yon  may  ask,"  said  he,  and 
resumed  his  book. 

Although  leave  to  ask  was  so  freely  and  kindly 
given,  Moorhead  felt  shy  of  taking  advantage  of  it. 

He  looked  at  the  old  gentleman,  who,  reading  hard, 
did  not  wear  a  responsive  expression. 

Then  he  plucked  up  courage.  "Then,  sir,  with 
your  permission,  I  will,"  said  he. 

"Will  what  ?"  said  Mr.  Willoughby. 

"Will  ask." 

The  old  gentleman  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"Why  you  live  here,"  said  Moorhead,  by  way  of 
reply. 

"I  like  the  fishing,"  said  the  old  gentleman  in  a 
matter-of-fact  way ;  and  as  he  seemed  to  think  this  a 
sufficient  reason,  and  as  the  affair  was  quite  his  own, 
Moorhead  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  press  the  matter 
further  ;  so,  with  the  remark  that  the  day  was  fine,  he 
wandered  out  in  the  valley  and  met  Leonora,  who 
came  singing  down  a  trail  that  led  from  the  mountains. 
He  walked  back  by  her  side. 

"Miss  Willoughby,"  said  he,  "how  is  it  that  you, 
who  have  no  home  but  these  woods,  and  have  seen 
nothing  of  your  equals,  are  so — er — " 

"  So  what  ?" 

"So  very — er — 

"  Well  ?"  she  said,  encouragingly. 

"So  entirely — au fait — so  well  versed  in  all  things 
one  likes  to  know — so — ah — unlike  what  one  would, 
naturally  expect  of  a — ah — um — child  of  the  forest, 
you  know." 

"I  cannot  tell,"  said  she.  "What  would  one  nat 
urally  expect  of  a  child  of  the  forest  ?" 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH  67 

"  Not  much/'  said  he.  "  And  you,  Miss  Willoughby, 
seem  blessed  with  every  grace  that  women  covet  and 
men  adore  !" 

"That,"  said  the  maiden,  thoughtfully,  "is  a  com 
pliment.  I  have  always  wondered  what  it  would  be 
like  to  have  a  compliment  paid  me  like  a  girl  in  a 
book  ;  now  it  has  happened,  and  it  hardly  seems  worth 
while." 

Nevertheless,  she  was  not  displeased,  and  added, 
gravely,  after  a  pause,  "You  would  like  to  know 
something  about  my  life  here  ?" 

"I  should  be  very  grateful,"  said  Moorhead,  "not 
out  of  curiosity;  but  how  can  I  help  feeling  an  in 
terest  in  you  and  yours  and  whatever  concerns  you, 
when  you  have  been  so  kind  to  me  ?" 

"Well," said  she,  after  looking  away  at  the  moun 
tain-tops  awhile,  "I  am  a  ' child  of  the  forest'  if 
ever  there  was  one  ;  but  I  suppose  I  don't  fill  your 
ideal  of  one  because  of  my  bringing  up." 

"  But  who  has  taught  you  ?"  he  asked. 

The  girl's  face  grew  very  grave  and  tender  as  she 
rose  and  said,  "  Come  with  me." 

He  followed  her  to  the  edge  of  the  woods.  She 
drew  aside  a  spray  of  moss-grown  maple  that  hung 
like  a  curtain  over  a  path  he  had  never  seen  before — a 
narrow  gallery  walled  closely  and  low-arched  with  the 
interlaced  undergrowth,  and  winding  some  hundred 
yards  into  the  wood. 

There  was  a  quiet  chamber  among  the  trees  where 
no  glare  of  the  sun  ever  shone,  and  all  sounds  were 
hushed  by  the  dense  mass  of  foliage  ;  where  the  roar 
of  the  river  was  a  drowsy  murmur,  and  the  whisper  of 
the  cedars  was  faint  and  soft — a  solitude  and  a  place 


C8  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

of  sacred  stillness  and  shadow.  No  bushes  grew 
within  it,  only  tender  ferns  and  moss  and  creeping 
vines. 

In  the  middle  of  the  space  stood  a  green  pile  of 
stones  such  as  hands  of  no  ordinary  strength  must 
have  lifted,  surmounted  by  a  cross  covered  with  cling 
ing,  drooping  woodbine. 

She  stood  there  a  moment,  then,  with  a  slight  gest 
ure,  bade  him  go  before  and  followed 'him  out  into 
the  light. 

She  answered  the  question  in  his  eyes.  "My 
mother." 

After  the  visit  to  the  grave  under  the  cedars  they 
began  to  know  each  other  better  and  better. 

During  their  pleasant  comradeship  by  hill  and 
stream  he  learned  her  story,  by  chance  words  and  by 
little  confidences  graciously  imparted. 

It  was  a  simple  tale  enough,  no  mystery,  no  skele 
tons  whose  uncomfortable  bones  must  be  covered  up, 
just  this : 

Mr.  Willoughby,  when  a  young  man,  had  quarrelled 
with  his  neighbors.  He  had  been  the  offender — pov 
erty  the  offence. 

The  friends  of  his  family  were  well-to-do,  and  so 
were  the  Willoughbys  themselves  for  many  genera 
tions. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-one,  by  a  series  of  misfort 
unes  he  found  himself  alone  in  the  world  and  very 
poor. 

This  did  not  trouble  him  much.  To  live  in  an  in 
expensive  style  and  do  something  for  his  living  was  a 
novelty  that  interested  him,,  and  he  saw  no  difference 
between  himself  as  the  heir  of  a  large  estate  and  him- 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  69 

self  as  a  clerk  with  no  definite  prospects  except  a 
raise  of  salary  to  look  forward  to. 

He  was  the  same  man — tall,  strong,  and  stately  in 
person,  gentle  and  modest  of  speech,  honorable  in 
mind,  kindly  in  spirit,  plain  in  dress. 

If  there  was  any  change  in  him  personally  it  was 
only  that  while  he  had  had  luxury  at  his  command  he 
had  been  disposed  to  indulge  in  it  a  little  too  freely, 
and  when  he  lost  his  means  he  put  a  strong  curb  on 
every  tendency  to  folly  and  extravagance. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  changed  for  the  worse  in  the 
eyes  of  his  neighbors. 

In  the  beginning  of  his  distress  they  made  all 
proper  conventional  protestations  of  friendship,  and 
then  set  about  getting  rid  of  the  intimacy  with  him 
of  which  not  a  few  of  them  had  been  proud. 

Friends  became  acquaintances.  Some  were  coldly 
courteous,  some  patronizing,  but  within  a  year  from 
the  time  of  his  final  misfortune  none  were  cordial. 

His  people  had  been  given  a  little  to  pride  of  place, 
and  the  reward  was  his.  It  might  have  been  other 
wise  but  for  his  splendid  person  and  attractive  manner; 
but  there  were  many  pretty  girls  in  town,  and  their 
mammas  bristled  and  ruffled  and  glared  at  the  danger 
ous  young  man  like  hens  in  defence  of  their  chickens. 

Now,  there  was  one  maiden  richly  favored  of  nature 
and  fortune  both,  above  all  others,  and  Willoughby 
had  been  fond  of  her  since  they  were  boy  and  girl. 

She  had  a  will  of  her  own  too,  and  maternal  chiding 
did  not  prevail  against  her.  She  had  been  shy  of 
Willoughby  while  he  and  his  had  prospered;  but  when 
his  troubles  came  she  made  no  secret  of  her  liking  for 
him — invited  him,  without  consulting  her  mother,  to 


70  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

her  parties ;  said  publicly  that  she  was  sorry  that  he 
had  not  come ;  was  heard  to  declare  that  he  was  the 
manliest  man  she  knew ;  refused  two  highly  ad 
vantageous  offers,  on  his  account,,  it  was  said  ;  and 
altogether  behaved  in  the  most  forward  and  repre 
hensible  manner. 

This  turned  popular  indifference  to  indignation. 
Parents  of  marriageable  daughters  would  not  have 
such  an  example  set  before  their  own  darlings. 
Parents  of  marriageable  sons  could  not  bear  to  see 
the  prize  kept  from  their  own  dear  ones  for  the  sake 
of  an  ineligible. 

The  young  men  were  jealous  ;  the  young  women — 
though  I  dare  not  say  that  any  such  sentiment  moved 
their  gentle  hearts,  particularly  as  Willoughby  had 
never  annoyed  them  with  any  attention — the  young 
women,  dear  girls,  shared  very  properly  the  feeling  of 
their  mammas. 

As  for  his  fellow-workers,  they  never  liked  him,  be 
cause  his  ways  were  not  their  ways.  In  short,  it  was 
a  small,  nasty,  gossiping,  jealous  community  where 
the  Golden  Calf  held  full  sway  over  the  hearts  of  the 
people. 

No  one  could  afford  to  cut  Bessy  Patterson,  but 
every  one  cut  Willoughby. 

As  for  Bessy,  she  was  in  deep  disgrace  with  her 
mother,  on  whom  her  present  welfare  and  her  prospects 
as  an  heiress  depended,  and  who  told  her  that  if  she 
married  that  objectionable  young  man  she  should  only 
add  to  his  difficulties  the  burden  of  a  penniless  wife; 
that  she,  Mrs.  Patterson,  would  neither  give,  lend,  nor 
leave  her  a  cent  to  fall  into  his  wasteful  hands. 

This  lasted  about  a  year.      Then  strange  things  be- 


LEONORA   OF  THE  YAWMISII  71 

gan  to  happen.  A  certain  man  had  an  enemy  whom 
he  wished  to  injure.  He  had  waited  an  opportunity 
for  years  and  his  chance  had  come,,  for  the  enemy — 
a  good,  easy-going  gentleman  with  no  idea  of  business 
and  a  cheerful  doctrine  that  all  would  go  well  in  time 
— had  fallen  deep  in  debt,  and  his  notes  of  hand  were 
abroad  in  many  directions. 

The  other  bought  them  all  in,  and  was  heard  to 
boast  that  he  would  "squeeze  him";  but  when  he 
was  on  the  point  of  carrying  out  his  threat  a  stranger 
appeared  and  redeemed  them  to  the  last  cent. 

That  night  the  debtor,  awake  at  last  to  a  sense  of 
his  position  and  trying  to  screw  up  courage  to  explain 
it  to  his  family,  received  a  package.  It  contained 
every  note,  indorsed  as  paid  and  torn  across  the  mid 
dle.  He  told  a  friend  or  two,  and  the  friends  spread 
the  news. 

Another  man,  who  prided  himself  upon  having  the 
best  of  everything  in  town,  was  in  treaty  for  a  certain 
piece  of  land  where  he  proposed  to  build  a  great 
house.  It  was  part  of  the  Willoughby  estate — a  low 
round  hill  with  a  rich  lawn  under  noble  elms — the 
fairest  site  in  the  neighborhood. 

Here  he  would  have  his  stable,  he  said;  there  his 
tennis-courts,  here  his  garden.  So  he  would  build 
his  house  and  show  people  how  to  live. 

His  bargain  was  not  quite  concluded ;  there  had 
been  some  little  disagreement  about  the  exact  quan 
tity  of  land.  But  he  had  consulted  an  architect  and 
a  landscape-gardener. 

He  was  walking  over  the  ground  with  them  when 
he  was  politely  requested  by  a  stranger  to  take  him 
self  off  the  premises.  Why  ?  Those  were  the  owner's 


'2  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISn 

orders.  Who  was  the  owner  ?  The  gentleman  who 
had  just  bought  the  whole  Willoughby  estate. 

A  splendid  pair  of  horses  was  brought  out  by  a 
dealer  and  exhibited  on  the  drives.  Yes,  they  were 
for  sale.  There  were  many  offers,  but  the  dealer 
knew  how  to  make  the  most  out  of  his  customers  and 
put  the  horses  up  at  auction.  None  of  the  prominent 
citizens  could  bear  to  be  outbid ;  but  one  by  one  they 
dropped  out.  At  last  they  were  nearly  going,  at  the 
highest  figure  any  one  could  afford  to  pay,  when  a 
stranger  stepped  in  and  bought  them  at  a  heart 
breaking  price. 

A  poor  old  man,  who  had  worked  hard  and  suffered 
much,  was  anonymously  presented  with  a  sum  that 
made  him  comfortable  for  the  short  remnant  of  his  life. 

There  was  money  afloat  in  the  town,  and  no  one 
knew  whence  it  came. 

Then  people  stopped  talking  about  it  to  talk  about 
something  else ;  for  it  was  noised  abroad  that  Wil- 
loughby,  in  a  shabby  suit  of  black,  much  polished  at 
the  elbows,  a  dreadful  pair  of  boots,  and  a  shocking 
bad  hat,  had  deliberately  walked  up  to  the  Pattersons, 
sent  in  his  card,  insisted  on  seeing  Miss  Patterson, 
offered  her  the  privilege  of  sharing  his  poverty,  and 
that  she  had  made  no  bones  of  the  matter,  but  coolly 
walked  off  with  him,  taken  a  train  for  the  city,  married 
him,  and  returned  to  his  humble  lodging  as  his  wife. 

It  was  too  true.  Mrs.  Patterson  was  prostrated 
and  would  see  no  one  for  a  day.  Then  she  told  her 
most  intimate  friend,  who  spread  the  news. 

Bessy  and  her  husband  lived  for  a  week  in  perfect 
content. 

Then  the  gray  span  came  swinging  down  their  hum- 


LEONORA  OF   THE   YAWMISH  73 

ble  street,  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  lodging,,  and 
took  them  through  the  town  to  the  Willoughby  place, 
whose  gates  closed  behind  them. 

"I  had  this  little  surprise  for  you,  Bess,"  said  Wil- 
loughby. 

"  What  does  it  mean,  dear  ?"  said  Bess,  a  bit  fright 
ened. 

"  Why,  I  came  in  for  a  lot  of  dross  two  months  ago 
— distant  cousin  —  no  near  relatives —  Why,  Bess  ! 
Did  you  really  think  I'd  ask  you  to  marry  me  hard- 
up  as  I  seemed  to  be  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  Joe.  And — you  let  me  think  we  had 
nothing  to  live  on,  and  preached  economy  to  me  all 
this  time,  and  let  me  take  all  the  pains  Fve  done  to 
train  myself  to  be  a  poor  man's  wife — for  nothing  ?" 

"  Just  for  fun,  Bessy/' 

"I'm  glad,"  said  she,  "Joe  dear.  Fm  glad  you 
gave  me  a  chance  to  show  that  I  didn't  care.  I  was 
glad  to  make  your  life  happier  when  it  seemed  a  sad 
one,  and  I  thought  I  could  manage  to  be  more  of  a 
comfort  than  a  burden  to  you  even  then,  Joe.  And 
now  I'm  glad  that  I  shaVt  be  such  a  burden,  after 
all — only  it  would  have  been  fun  fitting  up  that 
tiny  little  house  we  meant  to  have  sometime  when  we 
had  saved  enough  out  of  your  salary — the  little  house 
with  low  eaves,  and  ivy  about  the  porch,  and  the  little 
garden,  and  the  cow  that  I  meant  to  milk  myself,  and 
the  four  hens,  and  the  cheap  furniture  ;  and  I  was  to 
do  all  the  pictures  for  the  walls  and  cook  all  your 
dinners,  and  I  would  have  had  it  pleasant  for  you,  Joe  ; 
and  now  it  isn't  to  be,  and  my  poor  little  plans  are 
lost.  But  I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  have  carried  them 
out  very  well,  Joe." 


74  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII 

"Now,  let's  invite  all  these  dear  old  friends  that 
have  cut  us,  and  see  if  they  don't  all  come." 

Again  the  news  got  abroad.  The  people  were  in 
vited,,  and  came. 

They  showed  a  most  forgiving  spirit  and  were  pre 
pared  to  forget  Willoughby's  temporary  lapse  from 
place  and  Bessy's  undutif ul  marriage. 

Girls  got  new  gowns  for  the  occasion.  Men  looked 
their  best. 

They  were  received  at  the  door  and  shown  to  the 
dressing-room  ;  they  were  announced  at  the  drawing- 
room  door,  but  no  hostess  was  there  to  receive  them, 
no  host  to  bid  them  welcome. 

All  preparations  had  been  made  for  a  grand  recep 
tion.  The  rooms  were  brightly  lighted,  and  there 
were  flowers  in  profusion  and  music  behind  the 
palms. 

The  guests  were  uncertain  what  they  should  do. 
Some  one  asked  a  lackey  that  stood  in  the  hall  where 
were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Willoughby. 

The  man  had  learned  his  lesson,  and  repeated  it 
word  for  word  without  a  fault,  solemnly,  with  a  wood 
en  face: 

"Please,  madam,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Willoughby  said 
that  none  of  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  to-night  would 
come  to  see  them  but  only  for  the  use  of  the  good 
things  they  could  give  them  ;  and  so  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Willoughby  beg  to  be  excused  and  to  leave  everything 
at  the  gentlemen  and  ladies7  disposal.  Supper  will 
be  served  at  eleven  o'clock." 

So  the  guests  went  away  with  a  sense  of  having 
been  kicked  and  slapped  in  tender  places,  for  every 
one  of  them  had  dropped  the  acquaintance  of  Mr. 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  75 

Willoughby  while  he  was  unfortunate,  and  every  one 
was  obliged  to  acknowledge  to  himself  the  justice  of 
the  inference. 

The  feeling  that  prompted  this  extraordinary  be 
havior  on  Mr.  Willoughby's  part  was  so  real  and 
permanent  that  it  resulted  in  his  shutting  up  the 
house  and  going  away,  no  one  knew  whither. 

The  young  bride  went  gladly  with  her  husband, 
half  pitying,  half  sharing  his  state  of  mind. 

Her  mother  had  never  forgiven  her  marriage,  even 
when  it  had  turned  out  a  prosperous  one. 

He  heartily  disliked  and  mistrusted  people  ;  she 
could  get  on  without  them  ;  they  held  the  fellow-creat 
ure  a  bore  and  fled  him. 

A  certain  good  black  servant  of  the  bride's  family, 
devotedly  attached  to  his  young  mistress,  came  to 
them  and  begged  to  be  employed. 

"But,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby,  "we  are  going  away 
and  shall  take  no  one  with  us.  •  I  should  like  to  take 
you — but — " 

"Then/'  said  her  husband,  interrupting,  "let  him 
come." 

"No,  no,"  said  the  lady,  "he  has  a  far  better  home 
with  my  mother,  and  is  happier  in  his  old  place  in  her 
household  than  he  would  be  following  our  wanderings. 
We  must  not  take  him  from  all  the  little  comforts  he 
has,  to  share  our  adventures.  Fm  sure  he  doesn't 
care  for  adventures.  No  :  your  present  place  is  too 
good  to  throw  away,"  she  said.  "But  for  that  I 
would  gladly  take  you." 

The  darky  bowed  (he  was  the  pink  of  courtesy)  and 
departed.  On  the  next  day  he  came  back.  "Lost 
my  place,"  said  he.  "  Nothin'  to  do  for  a  livin'." 


<G  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

''Lost  your  place  !     Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Yas — yas,  'm.  All's  discharged,  without  a  charac 
ter  too." 

"Why,  how?    Why?" 

"Dismissed  foh  impudence  and  'toxication,  Miss 
Bessy." 

"  Impudence  and  m-tox-i-c«tion  !  You  ?"  said  the 
Willoughbys. 

"  Yas,  Miss  Bessy ;  yas,  Mr.  Willoughby,  sah." 

The  Ethiop's  morals  and  manners  were  well  known 
to  be  unimpeachable. 

"  How  cruelly  unjust !"  said  the  lady. 

"What  nonsense  \"  said  her  husband. 

"No,  Miss  Bessy;  no,  Mr.  Willoughby,  sah.  Own 
fault,"  said  the  culprit. 

It  appeared  that  after  being  told  that  he  was  not  to 
be  dragged  from  certain  comfort  into  uncomfortable 
uncertainty — from  his  snug  service  and  old  home  to 
the  shifting  scenes  »and  eccentric  fortunes  of  the 
Willoughbys — he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  remove 
the  obstacle  to  the  engagement  he  wished  for. 

He  had  therefore  appeared  before  the  astonished 
mother-in-law,  his  mistress,  holding  in  one  hand  a 
tumbler,  in  the  other  a  bottle  of  port,  and  declared  re 
spectfully  but  with  decision  that  he  meant  to  swallow 
its  contents. 

This,  in  Mrs.  Patterson's  indignant  presence,  with 
many  a  wry  face  and  inward  qualm,  he  had  done  ;  nor 
need  we  follow  him  through  the  few  hours  next  en 
suing. 

When  he  came  before  the  Willoughbys  he  was,  as 
usual,  the  picture  of  neat  black  respectability,  and  his 
bearing  after  the  manner  of  Sir  Charles  Grandison. 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII  77 

The  Willoughbys  looked  at  him  and  at  each  other, 
then  burst  out  laughing,  while  he  stood  solemnly  roll 
ing  his  eyes  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Poor  fellow  !"  said  Mr.  "Willoughby.  "  It  is  sad 
to  see  a  hitherto  blameless  and  happy  being  so  cast 
upon  the  world  without  a  home,  without  a  character. 
What  do  you  think,  Bess  ?" 

"lie  shall  come  with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
"and  be,  wherever  we  are,  be  it  in  court  or  camp,  by 
land  or  by  sea,  in  seed-time  or  harvest,  in  summer  or 
winter,  in  cot  or  in  palace,  on  foot  or  in  saddle,  now 
and  forever,  our  butler." 

So  the  Willoughbys  went  away  and  travelled  in 
many  lands,  and  Moloch  went  with  them,  and  saw 
strange  sights  and  learned  many  things. 

They  formed  no  ties,  and  revelled  in  their  freedom. 

Willoughby  never  lost  his  disgust  of  mankind,  but 
grew  more  and  more  weary  of  men  and  cities,  and 
went  into  the  wild  waste  places  of  the  earth. 

At  last  he  travelled  in  the  Northwest,  and,  wander 
ing  north  along  the  Sound,  encamped  with  his  young 
bride  by  glade  and  stream,  till  one  day,  following  a 
wounded  bear  far  up  the  Yawmish,  he  found  the 
valley  and  loved  it  for  a  home.  . 

There  they  lived,  a  happy  life  enough  ;  he  develop 
ing  a  grand  manliness  and  strength  in  the  struggle 
with  surrounding  hardships,  from  which  he  kept  his 
wife  as  well  guarded  as  if  she  had  been  still  in  her 
first  luxurious  home  ;  and  their  good  butler  lived  with 
them  and  served  them  well.  None  came  near  them 
from  the  outer  world. 

Willoughby  still  nursed  his  grudge  against  people  at 
large,  and  it  grew  stronger  in  his  solitude. 


78  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

She,  if  she  ever  missed  the  life  she  had  left,  never 
let  her  husband  know  it. 

But  Moloch,  when  he  went  on  his  occasional  pil 
grimages  to  the  Sound  for  supplies,  brought  her  all  the 
current  literature  of  the  time,  a  vast  parcel  of  news 
papers  and  magazines,  and  she  was  well  informed  of  all 
the  doings  of  the  outer  world. 

Never  was  woman  more  free  from  petty  vanities, 
more  self-forgetful,  more  absolutely  wrapped  up  in 
home  and  husband  ;  yet  she  read  the  fashions,  and  the 
gowns  she  made  with  her  own  pretty  hands  were  never 
very  far  behind  the  times. 

She  read  the  latest  books  too,  as  soon  as  they  could 
be  got,  and  could  follow  her  husband  through  the 
deeper  studies  in  which  he  had  begun  to  delight  since 
his  retirement. 

And  all  the  harvest  of  her  studies,  all  her  knowl 
edge  of  what  is  good  and  pleasant  and  without  blame 
in  the  world,  she  showered  on  her  little  daughter 
Leonora,  who  had  inherited  her  father's  sturdy  inde 
pendence  of  mind  and  health  of  body,  and  her  mother's 
beauty  and  grace,  taste,  and  instinct  of  high  refine 
ment. 

It  may  be  that  Mrs.  Willoughby  longed  sometimes 
for  a  different  life,  but  she  never  said  so.  Only  when 
her  last  illness  came  she  said  to  her  husband,"  Leonora 
must  not  always  be  here.  She  must  have  her  chance 
in  the  world,  and  not  be  wasted  in  solitude." 

And  her  husband,  with  what  little  voice  sorrow  had 
left  him,  spoke  and  gave  his  word. 

But  as  the  years  went  on,  there  seemed  no  immedi 
ate  occasion  for  keeping  his  promise.  There  was  time 
enough  yet. 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISII  79 

Meanwhile  he  studied  and  fished  and  dreamed,  and 
his  daughter  studied  too,  and  wandered  and  hunted 
on  the  hills,  and  learned  to  use  an  axe  and  saw  and 
rifle.  But  she  did  other  things  that  her  mother  had 
taught  her,  and,  like  her  mother,  she  too  read  the 
fashions. 

As  for  the  butler,  he  served  them  with  all  his  heart 
and  grew  old  in  their  service. 

So  Moorhead  found  them  in  the  valley,  and  this 
was  the  story  he  learned  of  Leonora. 


IX 


a  young  man  is  leading  a  lazy,,  comfortable 
life,  rambling  at  will  in  wild  and  beautiful  solitudes, 
with  no  cares  and  few  amusements,  with  no  object  in 
the  world  but  his  own  pleasure,  and  when  the  com 
panion  of  his  happy  easy  hours  is  an  exceedingly 
lovely  girl,  what  is  he  to  do  but  fall  in  love  with  her  ? 

Moorhead  fell  in  love — not  headlong,  but  deliber 
ately  and  wilfully,  having  first  made  sure  that  the 
object  honored  with  his  regard  was  eligible. 

Nor  was  she  sorry  to  have  a  lover  at  her  feet ;  and 
once  there,  assured  that  her  dainty  moccasins  were 
worn  from  choice  and  not  from  ignorance  nor  enforced 
lack  of  French  heels,  he  was  very  much  at  her  feet 
indeed. 

Love  took  the  conceit  out  of  him  for  the  time.  The 
little  woodland  girl  became  the  teacher  of  the  young 
man  of  the  world,  and  he  looked  humbly  into  her  eyes 
and  there  learned  many  things  that  had  not  occurred 
to  him  before — of  the  glory  of  innocence  and  down 
right  nature,  of  the  false  values  of  his  former  life  and 
the  dreary  worthlessness  of  much  that  he  had  held  in 
high  esteem,  and  of  the  dulness  of  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure  in  the  beaten  paths  where  men  toil  and  sweat 
and  scheme  to  "have  a  good  time." 

Now,  when  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  ask  her  to 
marry  him,  he  found  himself  suddenly  bashful  as  a 
boy,  and  afraid  to  come  to  the  point. 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  81 

This  was  a  new  experience  for  him.  He  had  never 
had  any  difficulty  in  offering  himself  before,  and  had 
generally  been  accepted,  though  his  engagements  had 
died  young — let  us  hope  because  they  were  beloved 
of  the  gods. 

There  was  something  about  Leonora,  or  about  his 
feelings  towards  her,  that  made  it  very  hard  for  the 
poor  young  man. 

He  had  intended  himself  as  a  compliment — he  was 
surprised  to  find  that  he  seemed  to  himself  an  un 
worthy  offering. 

This  was  all  the  worse  in  that  he  could  have  re 
course  to  none  of  the  small  devices  that  so  greatly 
assist  love-making  in  civilized  places. 

Society  provides  chaperons  to  manage  these  affairs, 
and  all  its  laws  and  ways  combine  to  make,  opportunity 
for  commonplace  young  men  who  are  not  up  to  the 
slaughter  of  dragons,  either  real  or  metaphorical,  or  to 
any  of  the  stage  or  heroic  methods  of  bride-winning, 
to  make  themselves  acceptable  by  such  small  acts  of 
personal  service  as  lie  within  the  scope  of  the  most 
limited  ability.  For  instance,  the  fervent  touch,  in 
dancing,  which  permits  a  thousand  small  liberties 
and  familiarities  which  no  man  dare  take  without  its 
sanction — the  prompt  calling  of  the  lady's  carriage — 
the  manner  of  assistance  in  putting  on  her  wrap — the 
expenditure  of  large  sums  (or  the  accumulation  of 
debt)  in  finding  out  gifts  for  one's  fair — the  standing 
about  in  corners  and  looking  fierce  when  she  talks  to 
one's  rival — the  improvisation  of  skating  or  boating 
expeditions  at  which  she  may  shine  and  so  be  gratified 
— the  aid  and  instruction  in  the  more  manlike  graces 
of  bowling  or  target-practice,  or  whatever  she  may 


82  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

affect — the  helping  her  in  and  out  of  boats,  cars,  or 
carriages — the  alliance  against  her  enemies — the  open 
jealousy,  often  rebuked  and  always  pleasing,  of  her 
friends — the  taking  to  evil  courses  when  thrown  into 
despair  by  her  frown,  and  an  infinity  of  other  such 
matters,  show  one's  devotion  and  excite  admiration 
or  pity  or  high  approval,  and  these  society  provides. 
But  Moorhead  had  no  means  of  showing  off  either 
himself  or  his  passion  to  advantage. 

His  practical  attentions  failed.  He  would  have  laid 
the  spoils  of  the  forest  at  her  feet,  but  he  hunted 
in  vain  and  never  killed  anything ;  and,  as  she  never 
returned  empty-handed  from  the  chase,  a  present  of 
game  would  have  been  in  the  nature  of  an  invoice  of 
ooals  to  Newcastle. 

He  would  have  plucked  the  sweetest  wild  flowers 
of  the  vale  and  offered  them  on  bended  knee,  but  she 
knew  where  they  grew  and  he  did  not ;  besides,  she 
had  them  always  on  the  table  at  breakfast,  and  more 
had  been  a  superfluity. 

He  was  quite  useless  as  an  escort,  for  she  was  more 
qualified  to  assist  him  in  the  pctits  sains  of  the  trail 
and  the  cabin  than  he  her.  He  grew  sentimental, 
heaved  sighs,  and  made  eyes,  but  she  took  no  heed. 
Being  unable  to  lead  gradually  and  gracefully  to  the 
wished-for  climax,  he  grew  desperate  and  determined 
to  come  boldly  to  the  point. 

His  proposal  was  not  a  success.  He  tried  to  ask 
her  as  she  sat  beside  him,  but  he  could  not.  Then 
he  made  the  attempt  standing  before  her,  but  the 
words  would  not  come,  and  he  only  asked  her  if  she 
had  ever  tasted  ice-cream. 

Next  he  came  into  her  presence  with  the  set  pur- 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  83 

pose  of  kneeling  before  her  ;  but  he  felt  that  he  would 
only  seem  absurd  to  her  and  nothing  would  be  gained, 
so  he  gave  it  up. 

At  last  he  thought  he  could  speak  more  easily  when 
walking  beside  her.  The  act  of  walking  would  relieve 
him  of  much  nervous  embarrassment,  he  thought,  and 
give  him  a  refuge  from  the  steady  gaze  of  those  deep- 
brown  eyes. 

One  day,  as  they  came  side  by  side  down  the  moun 
tain,  where  the  trail  was  broad  enough  for  two  slen 
der  people  abreast,  he  made  a  great  effort  and  an 
appropriate  speech.  It  was  perhaps  unfortunate  that 
he  had  prefaced  his  proposal  by  setting  forth  the  ad 
vantage  to  a  woman  of  having  some  one  to  walk  by 
her  side  through  life,  and  comfort  and  support  her 
in  all  its  ups  and  downs  ;  for  just  as  he  offered  his 
hand  he  fell  headlong  over  a  root. 

She  smiled,  and,  as  he  was  somewhat  entangled  in 
the  brush  and  in  an  awkward  position,  offered  her  as 
sistance  ;  but  she  held  out  a  branch  towards  him  in 
stead  of  her  hand.  He  refused  it ;  and,  vexed  at  his 
own  clumsiness,  went  on  silently  before  her,  and  did 
not  resume  the  subject  at  the  time. 

Always  thinking  of  himself,  he  was  tormented  with 
the  thought  that  he  had  made  himself  ridiculous  be 
fore  Leonora. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  the  mind  of  a  maiden 
receiving  an  offer  would  turn  directly  to  the  man  who 
offered,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  considerations  ; 
but,  as  it  happened,  Leonora's  had  not  been  taken  up 
with  Moorhead  or  his  mishap,  but  with  herself,  the 
fact  that  she  had  had  her  first  offer  of  marriage  and 
all  that  it  meant  to  her. 


84  LEONORA  OP   THE   YAWMISII 

Unable  to  make  his  own  personality  very  impressive, 
he  had  tried  his  best  to  interest  her  in  the  life  beyond 
the  woods,  had  kept  telling  her  of  all  she  missed  in  her 
forest  home,  till  by  degrees  she  had  come  to  wonder  and 
muse  about  the  world  without,  to  wish  for  the  pleasures 
that  society  affords  and  the  delight  of  going  in  flocks 
and  herds  as  is  man's  nature  to  do,  to  travel  and  see  and 
hear  for  herself  the  things  she  had  read  of  in  books. 

So  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had  begun  to 
feel — a  little— a  very  little — the  chill  and  fever  of  dis 
content. 

Now  when  Moorhead  asked  her  to  marry  him  it 
was  as  if  he  had  opened  a  door  and  said,  "  Come  and 
be  free  and  feast  your  eyes  on  wonders  here  among 
your  kind,  and  enjoy  like  other  women  all  the  world 
has  to  offer." 

So,  as  she  cared  far  more  for  this  than  for  Moor- 
head,  whom  she  liked  well,  but  whom  she  had  not  yet 
come  to  regard  as  her  heart's  all,  she  naturally  thought 
of  him  last. 

While  they  walked  home  to  the  cabin  it  occurred  to 
her  that  this  marriage  meant  above  all  things  the  shar 
ing  her  life  with  him.  Well,  why  not  ?  She  looked  at 
him  thoughtfully.  She  could  only  see  his  back— it  was 
a  well-looking  back,  with  a  good  pair  of  shoulders  and 
a  firm  neck.  She  knew  he  had  a  handsome  face. 
Altogether  she  liked  him  very  much,  and  was  touched 
by  his  being  fond  of  her ;  she  had  seen  that  weeks 
ago,  and  was  grateful  for  it.  Then,  he  was  the  only 
marriageable  man  there;  the  only  one  she  knew,  in 
fact.  That  did  not  occur  to  her,  and  so  had  all  the 
greater  weight  in  the  poise  of  her  judgment.  So  she 
said  to  herself,  "  I  do  love  him  I" 


LEONORA  OP   THE   YAWMISH  85 

She  had  a  keen  enjoyment  of  new  experience,  and 
was  on  the  whole  delighted  with  her  first  offer. 

While  he  went  on  in  silence,  hating  himself  for 
having  appeared  so  very  ill  when  he  wished  to  be  at 
his  best,  she  was  regarding  him  with  higher  and  higher 
approval. 

She  was  very  kind  to  him  after  that,  spoke  more 
softly  to  him,  and  treated  him  with  a  sweet  shyness 
that  he  found  irresistible.  The  ice  was  broken. 

He  did  better  with  his  next  offer,  speaking  to  the 
point  and  very  humbly. 

1 '  Yes,"  was  her  answer. 

It  remained  to  tell  Mr.  Willoughby,  and  Moorhead 
shrank  from  the  ordeal  as  from  the  confession  of  a 
crime. 

He  was  relieved  when  Leonora  strictly  forbade  him 
to  say  a  word  to  Mr.  Willoughby  about  it. 

"He  will  not  consent,"  she  said,  "and  why  trouble 
him  to  refuse  ?  It  would  only  make  us  all  very  un 
happy.  You  don't  understand  him  as  I  do." 

"  Then  you  will  marry  me  without  his  consent  ?" 
said  he,  with  a  glad  sense  of  having  the  better  of  Mr. 
Willoughby  in  a  way,  and  a  mad  vision  of  a  runaway 
through  the  forest. 

"No  indeed,"  said  she,  coldly. 

"Then  how—?" 

"I  cannot  leave  him  here  alone.  My  mother  left 
us  each  to  the  other's  care.  She  bade  me  never  leave 
him  here — and  I  promised.  She  begged  him  to  take 
me  away  from  this  place,  that  I  might  not  always  lack 
the  companionship  of  others  of  my  age,  or  the  life 
that  women  love  among  their  friends. 

"  He  also  promised,  and  he  will  keep  his  word — 


86  LEONOHA   OP   THE   YAWMISI1 

sometime,  when  he  is  ready,  and  for  my  sake  will 
get  over  his  hatred  of  the  ways  of  men  and  learn  to 
live  among  people  again. 

"  But  if  I  leave  him  he  will  never  go.  He  would 
end  his  days  here,  lonely  and  sad,  without  me,  and 
that  must  not  be. 

"When  he  has  a  new  home  and  will  not  be  left  so 
alone,  I  will  marry  you,  but  not  before.  If  you  care 
for  me  you  can  wait  for  me.  I  have  patience  and 
will  not  fail  you." 

He  promised  to  be  patient  and  wondered  how  he 
should  keep  his  word,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
world  had  never  seen  so  fair  a  woman,  and  he  longed 
to  show  her  to  his  own  people  at  home,  to  see  her 
great  eyes  light  with  wonder  and  pleasure  at  the 
things  that  were  in  store  for  her  in  the  great  cities 
she  had  never  seen,  to  have  her  sitting  at  his  table 
and  ruling  his  house,  to  give  her  all  that  wealth 
could  buy,  to  anticipate  her  wishes,  to  feel  that  she 
was  absolutely  his  own  and  to  be  with  her  always. 


MOOKHEAD,  happy  man  though  he  was,  found  him 
self  in  a  very  awkward  and  uncomfortable  position. 

In  the  first  place,  Leonora  had  no  sooner  accepted 
him  than  her  manner  towards  him  became  strangely 
cool  and  reserved. 

Their  pleasant  comradeship  was  spoiled,  and  noth 
ing  warmer  and  nearer  came  to  take  its  place. 

He  would  have  liked  to  kiss  his  betrothed,  and 
was  about  to  take  that  liberty  as  a  matter  of  course ; 
nor  would  the  evident  distress  in  her  eyes  have  pre 
vented  him,  but  it  was  followed  by  such  a  cold,  angry 
light  as  made  him  draw  back  fairly  afraid.  Next  time 
he  asked  permission,  and  was  told  to  wait. 

It  soon  became  clear  to  him  that  his  position  as  an 
accepted  lover,  far  from  giving  him  any  privileges, 
was  to  be  a  bar  to  the  slightest  familiarity  even  of 
speech  or  manner.  Leonora  would  have  no  love- 
making,  and  treated  him  with  a  distant  and  respect 
ful  courtesy  which  she  expected  him  to  observe 
towards  her. 

His  discontent  under  these  trying  circumstances 
became  apparent  even  to  Moloch,  who  had  observed 
the  stages  of  the  courtship,  and  was  both  anxious  and 
amused. 

Moloch  was  a  classical  scholar  in  a  small  way,  hav 
ing  devoted  himself  assiduously  during  the  winter 


LEONORA   OF    THE   YAWMISH 

evenings  to  the  perusal  of  a  mythology  that  took  his 
fancy. 

"  Tantalus/7  he  murmured  learnedly  to  himself, 
"am  not  in  it  with  Miss  'Nora's  young  gentleman." 

Secondly,  Moorhead's  welcome  with  Mr.  Willough- 
by  was  wearing  out.  Whether  the  old  gentleman  had 
any  suspicion  of  the  true  state  of  things  or  not,  he 
began  to  grow  very  impatient  of  his  guest's  presence, 
arid  showed  it  by  a  freezing,  bitter  politeness. 

At  last,  one  morning  he  said,  "  I  should  deeply 
regret  seeming  to  hasten  your  departure,  my  dear  sir  ; 
but  I  fear  you  can  hardly  find  your  way  alone  out  of 
the  woods,  and  my  man  Moloch  goes  to  the  Sound 
to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  ?"  said  Moorhead. 

"Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby ;  "and  after  that 
he  will  not  go  again  for  a  long  time  ;  so  it  seems  your 
only  chance  to  leave  a  place  of  which  you  must 
have  tired  long  ago.  So  I  fear  we  must  be  deprived 
of  your  society,  unless  you  will  be  persuaded  to  grant 
us  a  reprieve  and  allow  us  the  pleasure  of  your  pres 
ence  for  at  least  a  month  more ;  and  that  would  be, 
really,  too  much  to  ask." 

It  was  made  so  clear  to  Moorhead  by  dint  of  man 
ner  that  the  "  too  much"  was  for  him  to  ask  and  not 
for  Mr.  Willoughby,  that  he  had  no  alternative  but  to 
express  his  thanks,  his  regrets  at  leaving,  and  be  ready 
to  go  on  the  morrow. 

Leonora  took  it  very  coolly — nor  even  at  parting 
might  he  kiss  her. 

His  stay  in  the  valley  had  done  him  good.  The  life 
had  been  simple  and  wholesome,  free  from  the  petty 
cares  and  irksome  trifles  that  attend  the  pursuit  of 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 


pleasure  even  more  than  the  path  of  labor.  Leonora 
had  not  been  indulgent.,  Mr.  Willoughby  had  taken 
the  conceit  out  of  him,  and  the  discipline  had  been 
good  for  him.  The  grandeur,  peace,  and  solemnity  of 
the  place  had  given  him  deeper  and  greater  thoughts 
and  higher  wishes  than  he  had  ever  known  before. 

The  companionship  of  the  girl  he  loved,  the  truth 
and  faith  and  womanly  strength  of  her  nature,  made 
him  own  his  faults  to  himself  and  wish  to  be  more 
worthy  of  her. 

Had  he  been  able  to  stay  longer  in  the  valley  it 
might  have  been  the  making  of  him.  As  it  was,  he 
left  it  in  a  way  to  be  a  far  better  man  than  when  he 
came  to  it,  and,  in  spite  of  his  disappointment  and 
vexation  at  parting  from  Leonora,  he  set  out  in  the 
fair  morning  of  what  seemed  a  new  and  different  life, 
full  of  high  resolve  and  honest  purpose. 

Old  Moloch  went  before  him  with  three  ponies 
jogging  easily  under  empty  pack-saddles,  and  disap 
peared  among  the  trees. 

Moorhead  lingered  at  the  verge  of  the  open  and 
looked  back. 

Under  the  woods  it  was  still  night.  In  the  open, 
the  stream,  singing  its  eternal  song  of  the  woods  and 
hills,  shone  like  liquid  fire  in  the  early  light  and 
tossed  a  rosy  spray  upon  the  rocks. 

Far  above  and  beyond  the  black  woods  the  moun 
tains  held  their  blushing  snows  skyward,  like  great 
white  altars  kindling  into  flame. 

The  cabin  stood  warm  and  still  among  its  vines ; 
its  smoke  hung  on  the  air  in  little  clouds. 

Leonora  stood  in  the  arch,  all  the  stately  beauty  of 
her  form  showing  clear  in  white  drapery  against  the 


90  LEONORA.  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

darkness  of  the  porcli — an  image  to  be  remembered 
of  Moorhead  long  with  pride  and  joy,  and  perhaps  in 
time  with  bitter  sorrow.  She  waved  her  hand,  threw 
him  the  kiss  her  lips  had  refused  him,  and,  when  he 
would  have  come  back  to  take  it,  turned  away  under 
the  arching  vines  and  out  of  sight. 

He  followed  his  guide  out  into  the  shadows  of  the 
forest. 


XI 


MOLOCH  trudged  along  in  silence  with  long,  swing 
ing  steps,  brushing  the  dew  from  the  feathery  brake 
that  overhung  the  narrow  trail. 

The  Cayuse  ponies,  who  were  fond  of  Moloch  and 
knew  what  he  wanted  of  them,  jogged  on  behind  in  an 
orderly  manner,  looking  up  at  him  now  and  then  as 
if  for  permission  to  nibble  the  rare  tufts  of  grass  by 
the  way,  making  no  trouble. 

Moorhead"  came  last,  dreaming  as  he  walked,  going 
over  again  the  pleasant  scenes  he  was  leaving — imagin 
ing  new  ones  to  take  their  places. 

Then  his  mind  became  full  of  those  anxieties  that 
torture  a  lover  at  parting.  "  What  may  happen  in  my 
absence  ?"  he  thought,  as  if  his  presence  had  been 
likely  to  afford  any  great  hinderance  to  fate. 

"  How  long  will  it  be  ? 

"  Shall  I  come  back  soon  for  my  bride  ? 

"  Or  may  we  be  parted  until  our  youth — my  strength 
and  her  loveliness — are  only  memories  ? 

"  Or  what  may  not  come  between  us  to  separate  us 
forever  ? 

"Where  is  she  at  this  moment,  and  what  is  she 
doing  ?  Is  she  unhappy  at  my  going  ?  Is  she  not  ? 

"  Is  her  father  really  kind  to  her  ? 

"  Can  she  be  happy  under  the  control  of  such  a 
man  ? 


92  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII 

"Does  he  care  for  her  ? 

"Does  he  not  neglect  her  ? 

"Suppose  anything  should  happen  to  him  and 
this  black  fellow,  what  would  become  of  her,  alone 
in  the  forest  ?" 

Just  then  he  was  startled  by  a  face  staring  fixedly 
up  into  his  from  the  moss  beside  the  trail  —  a  face 
whose  brown  dried  skin  was  drawn  tight  over  the 
bones,  whose  eyes  were  black  hollows,  and  whose 
irregular  fangs  grinned,  sardonically  grim,  under  dry, 
twisted  lips. 

"Look  here  !"  cried  Moorhead. 

Moloch  came  back  past  the  ponies,  who  stopped 
with  sniffs  and  snorts  and  tossing  of  shapely  heads, 
and  took  advantage  of  the  halt  to  find  pasture. 

"  Siwash,  sah,"  said  he.     "  Repository,  sah." 

"  What's  a  repository?"  said  Moorhead. 

"  Place  where  the  dead  repose,"  the  butler  answered. 
"Lots  of  'em  here."  And,  stepping  into  the  brush, 
he  produced  two  thigh-bones,  a  shoulder-blade,  and 
a  jaw.  "  Siwash  aren't  very  partick'ler  'bout  'cedin' 
the  last  comforts  to  the  dead,  sah.  Haven't  took  the 
trouble  to  bury 'em  as  deep  as  one  might  have  wished, 
sah.  No,  sah." 

"  They  needn't  have  left  'em  in  the  trail  to  stare 
at  passers-by,"  said  Moorhead,  in  deep  disgust. 

"  The  repository  antedates  the  trail,  sah,"  said 
Moloch,  apologetically.  "  Prob'ly  the  trail  wasn't 
contemplated  when  these  folks  come." 

Towards  the  end  of  the  afternoon  the}T  heard  voices, 
and  a  rough  bass  struck  up  a  song. 

The  air  was  hardly  to  be  recognized,  but  was  perhaps 
what  passed  in  those  regions  for  "Rosin  the  Beau." 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH  93 

As  they  came  on  they  heard  the  following  words  : 

"So,  free  from  all  care  and  ambition, 

I  laugh  at  the  world  and  its  shams, 
And  rejoice  in  my  happy  condition, 
Surrounded  by  acres  of  clams  !" 

Then  a  thundering  chorus  took  it  up : 

"Surrounded  by  acres  of  cla-a-ams, 
Surrounded  by  acres  of  clams  ! 
Rejoice  in  my  happy  condition, 
Surrounded  by  acres  of  clams!"* 

They  came  to  a  clearing.  There  was  a  long  log- 
house  of  very  rude  and  temporary  fashion,  and  be 
fore  it,  lying  on  the  ground  among  the  chips,  or  sit 
ting  on  logs  and  stumps,  were  a  score  or  so  of  men, 
sturdy  and  hardy,  and  some  of  great  stature,  clad  in 
blue-jeans,  coarse  flannel  shirts,  and  high  boots. 

Some  dozen  double-bitted  axes  sticking  in  a  huge 
stump  eight  feet  high  and  six  feet  across;  some  cant- 
hooks  and  peeveys  standing  along  the  wall  ;  some 
cross-cut  saws  here  and  there  ;  a  few  lean,  weary,  sad- 
looking  cattle  with  the  goad -marks  raw  on  their 
haunches  ;  a  multitude  of  chips  that  lay  everywhere, 
arid  the  aspect  of  the  men  themselves,  showed  the 
place  to  be  a  logging-camp. 

The  loggers  stopped  singing  and  stared  at  the  trav 
ellers  with  curious  eyes. 

"Good-afternoon,"  said  Moloch,  politely. 

"  Hulloa,  nig  !     AVhar  be  you  from  ?"     This  ques- 

*  From  The  Old  Settler's  Sony,  much  in  vogue  on  Puget 
Sound. 


94  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

tion,  being  unanswered,  was  followed  by  an  invidious 
personality. 

"  Say,  you  ole  black  Siwash  nig  !  You  born  chick 
en  thief  !  Whar  in  -  'd  you  git  that  thai*  dude  ?" 

This  remark  was  followed  by  a  volley  of  expressions 
equally  irreverent  and  irrelevant. 

Moorhead  would  have  resented  this  uncalled-for 
insult  to  himself  and  his  attendant,  but,  seeing  that 
the  man  was  of  mighty  stature,  bull-necked  and  deep- 
chested,  and  of  a  very  healthy  complexion,  he  reflected 
that  his  dignity  might  be  even  further  compromised 
by  taking  as  an  effront  the  rudeness  of  an  untaught 
creature  of  the  woods  who,  doubtless,  knew  no  better. 

Moloch  seemed  of  the  same  mind,  for  he  approached 
the  stranger  with  his  best  bow  and  blandest  smile, 
saying,  "  'Dress  yourself  to  me,  sah  ?" 

"Yes,  you  old  huckleberry  coon  !  -    -  !  --  !  -    —  ! 


The  loggers  laughed  ;  the  speaker  was  the  life  and 
soul  of  their  company,  and  his  wit  on  this  occasion 
outshone  itself.  "He's  the  boy!"  "That's  what!" 
said  one  to  another. 

Moloch,  smiling  more  sweetly  still,  stood  before  him 
and  listened  to  his  abuse  with  all  the  deference  of  a 
well-trained  servant.  Then  he  put  his  arms  about  him 
and  kissed  him. 

The  others  rose  and  crowded  close  about.  The 
logger  writhed,  struggled,  yelled,  and  swore.  It  was 
of  no  use.  Moloch's  long  arms  were  round  him 
and  held  his  own  close  to  his  sides  in  a  tremendous 

grip- 

Then  it  might  be  seen  that  the  negro's  back  was 
the  broader  of  the  two  and  his  chest  the  deeper  ; 


LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISH  95 

the  great  cords  in  his  black  neck  swelled  and  stood 
out  like  iron  ridges. 

The  big  arms  held  the  logger's  middle  in  a  crushing 
grip  that  tightened  whenever  the  breath  came  out  and 
did  not  yield  to  let  in  more,  till  it  seemed  as  if  the 
ribs  would  be  crushed  in  upon  the  lungs. 

Tenderly,  and  again  and  again,  Moloch  pressed  his 
ample  lips  upon  those  of  his  new  acquaintance,  till 
their  profanity  was  hushed  and  the  very  breath  seemed 
drawn  out  of  them  in  one  last,  long,  unutterable  kiss. 
Then  he  laid  him  gently,  carefully  on  the  ground, 
and  spoke  to  the  lookers-on. 

"When  the  wicked  revile  you,  treat  'em  with 
'stinguished  kindness.  This  am  brotherly  love." 

There  was  a  roar  of  applause,  and  instantly  a  dozen 
flat  bottles  were  drawn,  uncorked,  and  thrust  cordial 
ly  towards  the  emissary  of  peace. 

"  Spare  me,  gen'lemen  ;  spare  me  !  My  delicate 
constitution  will  not  allow  me  to  participate  in  the 
enjoyment  of  stimulating  beverages,"  said  Moloch. 
"  My  young  days  am  over." 

So,  with  a  cheer  from  the  loggers,  the  procession 
went  its  way,  and  encamped  that  night,  in  a  pleasant 
place,  between  three  knolls,  whose  trees  locked  their 
branches  across  the  hollow.  There  was  fresh  grass 
for  the  ponies  and  a  pleasant  shelter  for  the  men. 

As  they  sat  in  the  firelight,  Moloch  kept  glancing 
sideways  at  Moorhead,  and  seemed  on  the  point  of 
saying  something,  but  shy  of  speech. 

"  Well,"  said  Moorhead,  "what  is  it,  Moloch  ?" 

"  Miss  Willoughby  am  a  lovely  lady,  Mr.  Moorhead, 
sah.  Miss  Willoughby  deserves  the  best  of  every 
thing." 


96  LEON 01* A   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

Moorhead  did  not  fancy  discussing  his  lady-love 
with  her  butler,  however  worthy,  and  was  about  to 
say  as  much,  but  something  in  the  old  negro's  face 
made  him  hold  his  tongue. 

"  Miss  Willoughby/'  said  Moloch  again,  "  am  very, 
very  much  alone  in  the  world,  sah.  Nobody  but  an 
old  butler  who  am  devoted  to  her  but  don't  hardly 
count,  and  an  old  pappah  who  am  devoted  to  hisself, 
and  the  time  comin'  on  for  'em  to  die  off,  and  then, 
sah,  Miss  Willoughby  would  be  all  sole  alone." 

e(  Not  quite  alone,"  said  Moorhead,  in  spite  of  him 
self,  and  added,  on  reflection,  "I  hope." 

"  So  do  I,  sah,  most  earnestly  hope  and  pray,"  said 
Moloch.  "  And  if  ever  a  man  has  her  happiness  in 
his  keeping,  may  God  bless  him  as  he  does  well  by 
her!" 

Though  the  old  servant's  manner  and  words  were 
respectful  and  pleading,  the  strong  earnestness  in  his 
clear  gray  eyes  was  a  command,  and  his  comic  old 
face  became  for  a  moment  full  of  the  majesty  of 
strong  will  and  deep  feeling. 

"Amen,"  said  Moorhead,  quite  unintentionally. 

Before  he  went  to  sleep  he  said  to  himself  : 

(i  I  have  had  strange  adventures,  and  this  is  the 
most  startling  of  all.  To  have  been  left  alone  in 
the  woods,  to  have  survived  that  fall,  is  something  ; 
to  have  got  engaged  in  such  a  place  is  something 
more ;  but  to  be  lectured  by  my  lady's  butler  arid 
general  factotum  —  confound  him!  —  and  that  with 
such  delicacy  and  tact  that  I  find  myself  saying 
'  Amen'  to  his  remarks  before  I  know  it,  is  too  much." 

They  passed  a  quiet  night,  and  from  that  time  on 
the  journey  was  uneventful,  except  for  the  exchange 


LEON  OK  A   OF    THE   YAWMISH  97 

of  greeting  with  occasional  settlers,  whose  cabins  be 
came  more  frequent  as  they  neared  the  Sound  ;  quiet 
souls,  who  lived  much  at  ease  waiting  for  their  claims 
to  become  town-sites,  and  very  happy  meanwhile  in 
anticipation  of  the  cities  they  meant  to  found  and 
the  wealth  they  would  acquire  thereby. 

At  evening  they  looked  out  upon  the  green  waters 
of  the  Sound,  and  the  forest,  the  valley,  and  all  that 
had  befallen  Moorhead  therein  lay  behind  him  like 
a  dream. 


XII 


THERE  is  a  city,  old,  as  American  cities  go ;  re 
spectable,  as  cities  go  in  general ;  enterprising,  in  a 
very  conservative  way ;  beautiful,  in  rare  spots  ;  and 
as  to  other  characteristics,  sui  generis. 

It  has  a  golden  dome  that  stands  above  one  of  its 
hills — a  glad  sight  far  at  sea  to  vessels  homeward 
bound ;  a  stone  much  worshipped  of  those  truly  im 
bued  with  the  spirit  of  the  place,  who  visit  it  where 
it  lies  embedded  in  the  foundation  of  a  shop,  and 
painted  a  bright  and  glorious  red  ;  a  few  dreadful 
monuments,  and  many  other  like  things  which  are 
pointed  out  with  pride  and  reverence  to  strangers.  It 
had  once  a  tea-party,  and  is  a  favorite  haunt  of  per 
sons,  dead  and  alive,  intimately  connected  with  the 
war  of  the  Ke  volution. 

The  people  are  not  just  like  other  people,  and  are 
very  glad. 

Here  was  Moorhead's  home  ;  hither  he  came  out  of 
the  Northwest,  and  here,  being  a  Bostonian  of  Bos 
ton,  he  was  received  with  open  arms. 

The  story  of  his  having  been  deserted  by  an  Indian 
guide  and  lost  in  the  woods  got  abroad. 

He  was  invited  and  drawn  out  on  the  subject.  So 
cieties  for  the  amelioration  of  the  aboriginal  lot  asked 
him  to  come  and  tell  about  the  shocking  plight  of  the 
red  man,  and  to  offer  suggestions  as  to  the  best  means 
of  developing  his  latent  virtues. 


LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISH 

He  was  plied  with  questions  as  to  what  he  had  seen 
and  done,  and  was  spoken  of  as  Mr.  Moorhead,  the 
new  explorer. 

Boston  dearly  loves  a  little  lion ;  be  it  but  a  lion,  she 
overlooks  the  occasional  fact  of  its  being  a  cub. 

So  it  became  the  thing  to  be  asked  to  meet  Mr. 
Moorhead,  the  explorer  (one  of  the  Moorheads,  but 
so  adventurous,  and  who  had  been  through  so  much), 
and  to  hear  him  tell  of  his  experiences. 

This  he  did  with  complaisance,  and  wrote  two  mag 
azine  articles  and  a  little  book.  But  he  said  nothing 
of  Leonora. 

The  engagement  was  not  announced.  He  told  him 
self  that  he  kept  it  a  secret  in  justice  to  Leonora. 

He  liked  to  be  in  good  form.  It  was  not  the  Thing 
to  announce  it  yet,  before  her  own  father  knew  of 
it ;  besides,  it  would  not  be  giving  Leonora  a  fair 
chance. 

People  would  judge  her  by  her  surroundings,  and 
the  judgment  would  not  be  nattering. 

He  did  not  tell  himself  the  real  reason,  which  was 
that  he  was  afraid  of  being  laughed  at  and  talked  of 
as  the  victim  of  a  sentimental  attachment  to  a  back 
woods  girl. 

As  he  spoke  of  her  to  no  one,  he  thought  of  her 
less  and  less,  till  her  image,  without  his  knowing  it, 
almost  faded  from  his  mind. 

At  first  he  had  written  often  to  Leonora  ardent  let 
ters  enough,  full  of  himself,  his  plans  for  the  future, 
his  interests  for  her  to  share,  and  had  sent  gifts. 

But  as  her  answers  came  seldom  —  for  she  only 
wrote  when  Moloch  was  to  go  to  the  Sound,  and  that 
was  but  once  a  month  or  so,  and  in  winter  hardly  at 


100  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

all — he  began  to  write  less  often  and  to  say  less  when 
he  wrote. 

Her  letters  to  him  seemed  constrained  and  shy,,  and 
did  not  amuse  or  interest  him  much  ;  indeed,  there 
was  little  to  write  about  in  the  valley. 

So  two  years  passed,  and  the  farther  he  got  from 
Leonora  the  worse  he  drifted  into  his  old  faithless, 
objectless  mode  of  life. 

It  is  a  matter  of  conjecture  how  long  he  might  have 
kept  his  secret — "Jier  secret,"  as  he  called  it — had 
Mrs.  Bradlee  not  taken  him  in  hand  and  made  up 
her  mind  that  he  would  do  well  to  marry. 

Not  to  marry  her — she  was  an  elderly  widow  of  sin 
gle  tastes,  a  cousin  of  his  through  the  Jacksons.  So 
she  was  motherly  to  Moorhead,  and  told  him  what  he 
ought  to  do. 

"  Now  that  I  have  twenty  good  minutes  to  bestow 
upon  you,"  she  said  one  day,  when  the  live-o'clock 
guests  were  gone  and  the  dinner-guests  had  not  come  ; 
"I  have  something  to  say  for  your  good." 
.  Moorhead  looked  pleased.  He  liked  her  little  lect 
ures,  because  he  usually  got  a  good  deal  of  compliment 
from  them  at  the  cost  of  very  little  advice.  Then, 
the  advice  itself  was  a  compliment,  for  Mrs.  Bradlee 
was  a  personage. 

She  took  him  from  the  parlor — stately  and  somewhat 
dismal,  after  the  manner  of  the  Back  Bay ;  with  a  bay- 
window  looking  out  on  a  brick  sidewalk,  a  narrow 
road,  and  a  row  of  uncompromising  brick  three-story 
houses  of  marked  family  likeness  which  stared  coldly 
from  the  other  side  ;  with  old,  dark,  deeply  cushioned 
furniture  that  absorbed  the  light,  and  a  sacrilegious 
travesty  of  an  open  fire  built  of  iron  logs  that  burned 


LEONORA   OF    THE   YAWMISH  101 

with  stiff  jets  of  gas  artistically  grouped,  to  represent 
.a  blaze — into  a  bright,  cozy  little  den  where  she  wrote 
her  letters,  and  which  she  called  her  '-'study/' 

"Now,"  said  she,  "we  have  all  been  delighted  with 
your  adventures  and  experiences,  which  are  all  very 
well  for  a  young  man  to  have,  no  doubt,  and  do  credit 
to  his  manly  qualities  ;  and  now,  I  suppose,  you  are 
pining  for  more  ?  You  have  a  bold,  adventurous 
disposition  and,  of  course,  enjoy  such  things." 

Moorhead  thought,  as  he  sat  in  comfort,  of  the 
dark  woods,  the  dreadful  steepness,  the  cold  winds 
on  the  mountain,  the  privation,  the  treachery  of  his 
Siwash,  the  language  of  the  logger,  his  own  deadly 
terror  for  fear  Moloch  should  get  the  worst  of  the 
ensuing  struggle  and  the  logger  turn  upon  him;  and 
shuddered,  but  did  not  deny,  even  to  himself,  that  he 
was  pining  as  alleged. 

He  loved  to  be  called  bold  and  adventurous,  and 
had  posed  in  that  character  so  long  that  he  had  be 
gun  to  believe  it  of  himself. 

"But,"  said  the  old  lady,  "you  must  stop  now  and 
be  content  and  settle  yourself.  Oh  yes,  you  must, 
you  know.  You  are  not  doing  your  duty  to  your  set, 
which  misses  you.  Your  place  is  at  home. 

"All  that  was  well  enough  while  you  were  a  boy; 
but  now  you  have  your  place  to  take.  "You  must 
open  your  house  ;  you  must  be  in  the  swim  ;  you  must 
take  part  in  what's  going  on  with  the  rest  of  .us  ;  you 
must  entertain  as  becomes  the  head  of  the  family  ;  in 
short,  you  must  'do  unto  others/  etc?.  One  expects 
it  of  you. 

"And  to  do  this  you  must  marry.  It's  time  you 
married.  Don't  allow  yourself  to  fall  into  the  old 


102  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

bachelor  stage.  Old  bachelors  are  utterly  useless,, 
except  that  they  are  sometimes  amusing  at  dinner,  if 
one  feeds  them  well,  and  not  too  well. 

"You  must  marry,  and  you  must  marry  well  and 
suitably /" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  there's  any  need  yet,"  said 
Mo  or  head,  uncomfortably. 

"You'll  forgive  my  not  agreeing  with  you,"  said 
the  lady.  "  There  is  need.  It  is  your  duty  to  us. 
In  your  position  it  is  not  the  thing  to  be  a  bachelor. 

"The  family  has  always  held  a  certain  place  in 
society — a  place  that  you  are  leaving  empty.  People 
notice  it,  and  are  surprised  at  you. 

"  It's  a  long  time  since  your  father's  house — and 
yours — has  opened  its  doors  to  society. 

((  We  have  duties  to  perform,  just  as  others  do. 
They  are  not  in  the  way  of  trade  ;  they  are  not  nec 
essary  to  our  livelihood  ;  we  don't  earn  our  bread  and 
butter  by  them  ;  but  they  are  duties  none  the  less, 
and  even  more  important  to  us,  for  we  hold  our  posi 
tion  by  them — and  we  set  an  example  and  keep  up 
the  social  tone. 

"  To  do  this,  as  I  said  before,  you  must  marry. 
You  must,  you  know." 

"  But,"  said  Moorhead,  "  whom  should  I  marry  ?" 

"  Whom  ?  Why,  there  are  plenty  — plenty  who 
would  do  you  the  greatest  credit. 

"  There's  Elsie  Kent,  for  instance.  People  said 
once  that  you  would  surely  marry  Elsie  Kent.  Why 
didn't  you  ?  Why  don't  you  ?" 

"  Between  ourselves,  I  don't  think  I  was  ever  very 
fond  of  Elsie  Kent,"  said  Moorhead. 

"Very  fond!     Just  like  your  roving,  romantic  dis- 


LEONORA   OP  THE  YAWMISH 


103 


position  !  As  if  that  mattered  I  Please  try  to  re 
member  that  you  are  not  a  troubadour ;  not  a  rustic 
swain,  not  a  turtle-dove,  but  the  head  of  a  good  old 
family,  with  two  big  houses  to  keep  up,  and  duties 
and  responsibilities  that  belong  to  your  position. 

"  Men  who  wait  to  'fall  in  love/us  you  call  it"  (Mrs. 
Bradlee's  marriage  had  been  notably  a  love-match, 
but  she  held  it  exceptional),  "generally  end  by  mar 
rying  some  unsuitable  person — some  girl  they  find  in 
some  unheard-of  place"  (Moorhead  was  not  man  enough 
.not  to  wince  and  feel  guilty),  "  or  some  person  of  whom 
nobody  knows  anything,  who  doesn't  know  her  proper 
•place  and  can't  learn  her  new  one,  or  some  advent 
uress,  perhaps. 

"I  have  the  greatest  faith  in  your  judgment,  if  you 
choose  to  exercise  it ;  but  you  are  too  impulsive  and 
rash  and  boyish  !" 

The  two  smiled  at  each  other.  It  pleased  Moor- 
head  to  be  credited  with  impulse,  and  Mrs.  Bradlee 
to  think  she  knew  people  through  and  through  and 
could  not  be  deceived  in  character. 

"I  suppose  you  are  right,"  said  he  ;  "but  I  know 
no  one  whom  I  feel  inclined  to  marry." 

He  was  thinking  of  Elsie  Kent  and  the  other  girls 
of  Mrs.  Bradlee's  coterie,  and  had  forgotten  for  a 
moment ;  then,  as  the  thought  of  Leonora  came  to 
him,  he  turned  very  red,  looked  down,  and  added, 
indistinctly,  "that  is — 

"  What  ?"  said  madam,  looking  sharply  at  him  with 
her  bright  little  black  eyes;  "you   said,  'that  is— 
I  think  ?    '  You  don't  know  any  one  you  feel  inclined 
to   marry  — that  is/     What  is?  or  rather,  Who  is? 
Who  is  she?"  the  lady  continued,  leaning  forward  to 


104  LEONORA   OP  THE   YAWMISII 

look  into  liis  eyes,  and  touching  his  hand  with  the 
tip  of  her  fan. 

Moorbead  grew  more  and  more  confused. 

"Come  !"  said  Mrs.  Bradlee,  sharply,  giving  herself 
up  to  the  pangs  of  curiosity.  "I  never  knew  you 
bashful  and  shy  before,  and  Fve  known  you  all  your 
life.  You're  engaged.  And  something's  the  matter, 
or  you'd  have  married,  or  at  least  announced  your 
conquest.  Perhaps  you  are  married." 

"No  I"  said  Moorhead,  eagerly,  glad  to  have  some 
thing  to  deny.  "  I'm  not  married." 

"  That's  to  say,  you  are  engaged  !"  said  Mrs.  Brad- 
lee,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  excitement.  "  You  don't 
deny  that  you're  engaged  ?  You  can't  deny  it.  You 
are  engaged  \" 

Moorhead  could  not  deny  it.  Had  there  been  time, 
he  probably  could  have  argued  himself  into  the  be 
lief  that  all  that  had  passed  between  him  and  Leonora 
did  not  constitute  an  actual  formal  engagement,  their 
marriage  being  to  be  only  on  condition  of  Mr.  Wil- 
loughby's  return  to  civilization ;  and  then  he  could 
have  denied  without  a  blush  or  a  downward  look. 

But  he  hadn't  time. 

"You  have  guessed  it,  Cousin  Sarah,"  said  he, 
meekly. 

She  drew  back  with  a  little  smile  of  triumph  that 
faded  into  an  anxious  expression.  "Well  ?"  said  she; 
and  after  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  she  sat 
with  her  eyebrows  raised  and  the  tip  of  her  once  very 
pretty  nose  on  high,  added,  in  a  coaxing  tone  : 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it.  What's  her  name,  for  in 
stance  ?" 

"Willoughby." 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII  105 

"  Well  enough  as  far  as  it  goes.  There  are  Wil- 
loughbys,  and,  of  course,  Willoughbys.  And  where 
does  she  live  ?" 

"  In  the  most  beautiful  spot  on  earth." 

"  Yes,  of  course.     And  what  is  it  called  ?" 

"  The  Valley  of  the  Yawmish." 

"  The  Valley  of  the — what  did  you  say  ?  How  very 
romantic  !  And  where  is  this  valley  ?" 

"'Way  out  in  the  woods — under  the  Olympics." 

"  The  Olympics — are  mountains,  are  they  not  ?  In 
Siberia,  isn't  it  ? — no,  I  mean  Alaska  ?" 

The  footman  came  in  with  a  card. 

"  No,  I'm  very  particularly  engaged.  Sorry,  Peters. 
'Mm — 'way  out  in  the  woods.  How  ever  did  it  hap 
pen  ?" 

"  I  tumbled  oif  a  mountain,  and  the  loveliest  girl 
on  earth  found  me,  took  me  home,  nursed  me,  and— 

"  Loveliest,  of  course.  Every  girl  is  loveliest  to 
such  a  man  as  you  are  when  no  other  is  in  sight. 

"  Nursed  you,  did  she  ?" 

"  Yes.  Well,  as  I  began  to  know  her  better,  I  found 
she  was  all  she  looked,  and,  if  possible,  more." 

"  How  did  she  happen  to  be  living  there  ?" 

"  Born  there." 

"  Full  of  sweet  sylvan  graces,  I  suppose  ?  G-ood 
gracious  !  Had  she  any  relations  ?  What  kind  of 
people  are  they  ?" 

"A  father,  a  very  superior  old  gentleman,  not  that 
I  liked  him.  They — they  had  a  butler." 

When  Moorhead  left  Mrs.  Bradlee's  he  was  in  a 
very  uncomfortable  state  of  mind.  He  had  tried  to 
be  loyal  to  Leonora,  but  as  his  first  thought  had  been 
then,  as  always,  Charles  Norman  Moorhead,  he  had 


106  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

tried  to  defend  his  engagement  by  excusing  and  jus 
tifying  himself  for  entering  into  it.  This  had  made 
his  tone  apologetic,  which  was  not  a  compliment  to 
Leonora. 

Mrs.  Bradlee  had  taken  the  position  of  one  who 
accepts  an  apology.  She  had  graciously  conceded 
that  it  was  excusable  and  natural  enough  in  a  young 
man  of  what  she  was  good  enough  to  call  his  "  ardent 
temperament/'  but  had  more  than  hinted  that  it  was 
a  great  misfortune. 

He  had  expatiated  on  Leonora's  beauty  and  splen 
did  mental  endowments  ;  her  scholarship  and  ex 
quisite  taste. 

She  had  laughed  a  little,  and  acknowledged  that 
his  admiration  of  the  only  girl  then  in  sight  was  a 
thing  to  be  expected,  and  had  implied  that  the  cir 
cumstances  were  such  as  to  stimulate  imagination  to 
the  utmost  and  magnify  each  grace  a  thousand-fold. 

He  had  grown  a  little  indignant,  and  become  real 
ly  loyal  for  a  while,  and  had  shown  more  enthusiasm 
in  praise  of  his  choice  than  he  had  felt  for  some  time 
before. 

She  had  laughed  at  him  good-naturedly,  and  said 
that  she  had  not  meant  to  doubt  his  taste,  but  only 
to  suggest  that  where  there  is  no  standard  of  com 
parison  the  very  best  taste  may  be  at  fault. 

Then  she  had  sighed  and  said  quite  plaintively  : 
"  Of  course,  it's  irrevocable.  You  can't  escape  it 
now,"  and  had  looked  at  him  with  pity. 

"  Engagements,"  she  had  continued,  "  are  never 
Irolcen,  of  course  /"  and  had  looked  at  him  sideways. 

He  walked  home,  thinking  it  over.  The  more  he 
thought,  the  more  indignant  he  felt  at  the  worldly 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII  107 

old  lady's  attack  ;  the  more  indignant  lie  felt,  the 
more  her  arguments  repeated  themselves  to  him  ;  the 
more  they  recurred,  the  more  sound  they  seemed,  in 
spite  of  all  he  could  say  to  the  contrary. 

From  that  time  there  began  to  grow  up  in  his  mind 
a  feeling  that  perhaps  Leonora's  loveliness  ivas  partly 
due  to  the  glamour  of  her  surroundings,  or  lack  of 
surroundings  ;  that  perhaps  it  would  have  been  dif 
ferent  had  there  been  others  with  whom  to  compare 
her ;  perhaps  it  was  impossible  that  one  born  and 
bred  in  the  backwoods  could  possess  all  he  had  seen 
in  her  ;  that  perhaps  she  might  be  out  of  her  cle 
ment  elsewhere  ;  that  perhaps,  in  short,  he  had  made 
a  mistake.  Then  came  the  reflection  that,  as  Mrs. 
Bradlee  had  said,  however  that  might  be,  it  was  irrev 
ocable. 

This  preyed  upon  his  mind.  Every  day  he  saw  a 
pretty  girl  or  so  here  and  there  ;  and  he  was  not  un 
susceptible.  Mrs.  Bradlee  told  several  people. 


XIII 


MOOEHEAD  went  to  Mrs.  Bradlee's  party,  and,  hav 
ing  been  greeted  by  his  hostess  and  escaped  from  a 
debutante  in  whose  victorious  path  he  had  been  cast, 
retreated  to  an  alcove,  and  looked  about  for  some  way 
of  passing  the  time. 

The  house  had  been  made  gay  for  the  occasion,  and 
wore  the  air  of  a  solemn  old  personage  decked  by  his 
daughters  for  a  feast,  and  all  the  more  glum  by  con 
trast  with,  and  the  sense  of,  his  festal  attire. 

Among  the  stately  sticks  of  furniture  grew  palms 
and  rhododendrons  in  conspicuous  pots,  and  seemed, 
as  well  they  might,  stiff  and  ill  at  ease  in  each  oth 
er's  company ;  and  there  were  elaborate  devices  of 
flowers  painfully  like  those  that  are  admired  of  the 
funeral  reporter,  and  called  by  him  "floral  tributes." 

All  that  could  well  be  lighted  was  lighted,  and  the 
carpets  were  sombre,  the  pictures  on  the  walls  were 
sombre  ;  there  was  an  effect  of  too  much  glare  in  too 
much  gloom. 

There  was  an  abundance  of  costly,  heavy  ornament ; 
articles  very  beautiful  and  curious  in  themselves,  but 
suffering  from  their  environment,  having  the  look 
of  being  set  on  show,  giving  a  shoppy  aspect  to  the 
rooms. 

The  gas-fire  blazed  in  pale  merriment  among  its 
iron  logs,  and  the  air  was  stuffy  Avith  the  flowers  and 


LEONORA   OP  THE   YAWMISII  109 

millinery  and  upholstery.  There  was  also  music  be 
hind  the  ill-assorted  plants.  He  stood  looking  over 
the  throng  and  dividing  the  people  into  two  classes — 
those  he  knew,  who  would  bore  him,  and  those  he  did 
not  know  and  did  not  care  to  take  the  trouble  to 
meet. 

His  glory  as  an  explorer  and  author  was  beginning 
to  pall  upon  him ;  he  knew  he  might  be  expected  to 
talk  of  his  experiences,  and  hated  the  thought. 

How  many  people  had  Mrs.  Bradlee  told  of  his  en 
gagement  ?  Would  people  ask  him  questions  about 
it? 

Something  tickled  the  tip  of  his  ear. 

It  proved  to  be  the  swan's-down  fringe  of  a  fan, 
whose  owner,  as  he  looked  up,  shrank  playfully  back 
from  him,  clasping  her  hands,  with  a  look  of  mock 
terror  in  a  pair  of  wide  blue  eyes. 

"  Oh — but  forgive  me  !"  said  the  lady.  "I  had  no 
idea  you  could  seem  so  fierce  and  touch-me-not-ty,  or 
I  should  never  have  dared — indeed  I  shouldn't.  Is 
that  the  look  with  which  you  were  wont  to  quell  the 
fierce  bears  and  things  of  the  Western  wilds-  in  their 
native  haunts  ?  The  look  that  frighted  the  stern 
savage  from  your  side  and  made  him  run  away  and 
forget  not  to  take  all  your  things  with  him  ?  H-m  ? 
Is  it  ?  Pray  take  it  off  and  be  amiable,  Charles — or 
Norman  you  call  yourself  now,  don't  you  ? 

"I  hoped  you  would  have  forgiven  my  waking  you 
up — for  old  times'  sake  ;  but,  of  course,  you  have  for 
gotten — 

And  the  large  eyes  rolling  upward,  as  in  despair, 
were  followed  by  the  corners  of  the  wide  laughing 
mouth. 


110  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

"  Forgotten  ?  Indeed  I  have  not,  Nelly — Mrs.  Mer- 
ivale,  I  mean.  A  man  doesn't  easily  forget  the  cause 
of  so  many  happy  and  so  many  painful  times !"  said 
he,,  rising  and  seizing  her  hand  and  looking  eagerly 
into  her  face  as  he  spoke. 

She  withdrew  her  hand. 

"I  think  you  have  learned  many  things  from  your 
bears  and  savages.  One  of  them  is  '  shaking  hands/  ''• 
said  she,  with  a  very  becoming  frown  and  pout.  "Hap 
py  and  painful  times,,  you  said  ?  I  forgive  you  the 
happy  ones — which  you  had  no  right  to — for  the  sake 
of  the  others — which  you  deserved  !  Eh  ? 

"  But  now  tell  me  what  have  you  really  been  doing 
all  this  weary  while,  and  why  you  have  not  written, 
sir  ?  Give  an  account  of  yourself  I" 

"How  could  I  write  ?  I  had  no  permission/'  said 
Moorhead,  who  was  lazily  submitting  to  the  lively 
lady's  assumption  of  authority  and  found  himself  be 
ginning  to  enjoy  it  immense. 

"How  could  he  write  ?  Hear  him  !"  said  she,  ap 
pealing  as  it  seemed  to  invisible  and  attendant  Graces 
of  her  own  to  judge  him. 

"  No  permission,  indeed  !  You  should  have  written 
to  ask  permission,  then,  if  for  nothing  else  !" 

"If  I  had  dared  write,"  said  he,  "it  would  have 
been  for  something  else  also,  I  imagine.  There  are 
people  so  blessed  with  the  power  to  grant  favors  that 
one  can  hardly  see  them  or  think  of  them  without 
asking  !" 

"  '  People  !'  I  don't  know  that  I  like  that/'  said 
she.  "Are  there  many  ?" 

"  I  only  assumed  that  there  might  be  others.  I  only 
know  one,"  and  he  bowed  before  her. 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISII  111 

"That's  better,"  she  said,  "and  so  —  you'd  have 
asked  favors,  would  you  ?" 

"Indeed  I  should.  Would  it  have  been  of  any 
use  ?" 

"Ah  !  who  knows  what  might  have  been  ?  What 
leads  you  to  dream  that  it  could  have  been  of  any  use  ? 
Not  I,  surely.  And  yet  —  as  you  didn't  write  and 
didn't  ask — who  knows  ?" 

There  was  a  pause,  while  she  looked  unutterable 
possibilities  at  him  out  of  big  dark-blue  eyes  under  a 
heavy  fringe  of  lashes. 

He  had  forgotten  how  beautiful  she  could  be  when 
she  tried,  and  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  forehead 
so  white,  her  hair  so  richly  clustered,  her  lips  so  full 
and  sweet. 

It  is  probable  that  he  never  had.  She  had  meant 
to  look  well  that  evening,  and  was  one  of  those  per 
sons  who  carry  out  their  intentions. 

"  Besides,"  he  said,  as  an  after-thought,  "you  were 
married,  you  know." 

"Oh,"  she  answered,  "how  absurd  in  you  !  Why, 
anybody  could  see — everybody  knew — it  was  only  tem 
porary  !" 

Then,  seeing  a  shocked  expression  on  his  face,  she 
added  a  mitigating  clause  or  two  in  a  voice  of  grief : 

"  There,  you've  misunderstood  me  !"  and  she  look 
ed  deeply  hurt.  "  Have  I  got  to  explain  every  little 
thing  I  say  to  you  ?"  (fretfully).  "You  used  to  un 
derstand  me"  (reproachfully,  with  a  little  sigh  for 
bygone  days).  "Well,  I  didn't  mean,  of  course,  that 
/  meant  it  to  be  temporary  at  the  time — 

"  Oh,"  he  protested,  "  I  never—" 

"Yes  you  did!"   said  she,  sharply.     "Your  face 


112  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

said  it,  if  your  tongue  didn't.  You  see  I  can  read 
you  like  a  bill,  or  any  other  disagreeable  document — 
just  as  I  always  could. 

"  "Well,  as  I  said,,  I  never  thought  of  it  at  the  time, 
or  while  it  lasted,  as  only  temporary,  of  course  !  What 
I  did,  I  did  to  please  my  friends,  and  took  to  myself 
all  the  credit  of  making  a  lifelong  sacrifice. 

"I  did  not  see,  as  every  one  else  did,  that  poor 
Mr.  Merivale  had  but  a  little  while  on  earth,  or,  of 
course,  I  wouldn't  have  married  him,  because  I  should 
have  seen  that  it  would  look  as  if  I  did  it  for  money. 
Some  people  think  that  now." 

She  looked  at  him  defiantly,  as  if  to  dare  him  to 
express  such  an  opinion  ;  but  he  only  said,  meekly 
enough  : 

"  Of  course  not.  I  always  knew  and  said  you  mar 
ried  him  blindly,  because  your  people  urged  you  to — 
and  in  a  way  coerced  you  to  it." 

"Oh,  you  always  said  that,  did  you  ?  How  sweet 
of  you  !" 

"  But,"  said  he,  "that's  all  over  now." 

"Yes,  all  over,"  she  answered.  "And  it  seems 
like  a  dream,  as  if  it  had  never  been  at  all." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  he. 

"But  you,"  said  she — "to  return  to  our  original 
and  more  agreeable  topic  —  how  has  it  been  with 
you  ?" 

«0h,  I— I've— drifted." 

"But  why  did  you  not  write  ?  It  wasn't  for  lack 
of  permission,  you  know.  That  was  the  very  lamest 
and  flimsiest  excuse.  Haven't  you  made  a  better  one 
by  this  time  ?  Come  now,  tell  me  :  Was  it  because 
you  were  vexed  ?" 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  113 

"  Yes/'  said  he,,  "  if  you  call  it  'vexed.'  It's  rather 
a  weak  term  for  the  feeling  of  a  man  who  has  just 
seen  the  girl  he  has  fancied  everything  to  him  mar 
ried  all  of  a  sudden  to  an — but  we  won't  say  anything 
about  the  late  lamented  Abner  Merivale.  Yes,  I  was 
vexed  !" 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,  Charley/'  said  she.  "  I'm  glad 
you  were  vexed,  because  it  showed  that  you  cared  a 
little.  And  now  tell  me  :  You  have  consoled  yourself, 
of  course — men  always  console  themselves.  How  have 
you  done  it  ?" 

Mrs.  Merivale  was  a  peculiarly  fascinating  woman — 
more  so  than  even  when  he  had  thought  her  the  only 
girl  on  earth. 

He  had  begun  to  enjoy  himself  immensely ;  had 
reached  the  stage  of  tender  reminiscence,  and  was  by 
no  means  prepared  to  tell  her  about  Leonora. 

"How  have  you  consoled  yourself  ?"  said  Mrs.  Mer 
ivale  again. 

"I — oh,  how  could  I  console  myself  ?"  he  asked. 

"Ah  !"  said  she,  searching  his  eyes  for  a  confes 
sion.  "  Who  is  she,  then  ?" 

"  There's  no  one  !"  said  he,  lying  freely,  and  was 
about  to  say  more,  but  she  rose  with  a  short  laugh 
and  a  mocking  glance,  turned  to  one  Timmons,  who 
had  been  waiting  at  a  respectful  distance,  impatient 
to  speak  to  her,  nibbling  such  of  his  downy  mus 
tache  as  he  could  get  hold  of  ;  took  his  arm  and 
walked  away. 

"So  he  says  '  there's  no  one  !'  she  thought;  "and 
what  does  he  mean  by  that?  Does  he  mean  me  to 
think  there  has  really  been  no  one  ?  As  if  I  didn't 
know  all  about  this  highly  romantic  engagement  of 


114  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISU 

his  ?  Or  does  he  mean  it's  broken  off,  like  one  or 
two  others  he's  had  for  fun,  and  that  there's  no  one 
noiv?  Anyway,  I  don't  like  his  trying  to  conceal  it. 
It  shows  it  was  in  earnest,  and  that  he  still  cares 
about  it,  otherwise  he'd  tell.  Well,  never  mind ;  if 
it's  not  broken  it  will  be  now.  He's  hooked.  But  I 
shaVt  feel  sure  of  him  till  I've  made  him  confess 
and  do  penance  ;  and  then,  if  he's  still  engaged  to  the 
Wild  Lady  of  the  Woods,  I'll  help  him  out  of  his 
scrape." 

They  had  begun  to  dance.  Moorhead  was  fond  of 
dancing  ;  but  to-night  he  stood  the  saddest  of  wall 
flowers,  watching  the  young  widow  as  she  tripped  light 
and  lithe  and  clinging  about  the  room  in  the  arms 
of  various  men,  whose  faces  wore  each  and  all  a  look 
of  unmitigated  bliss  while  they  were  with  her. 

She  gave  him  not  a  word  or  look,  and  he  dared  not 
seek  her ;  he  was  afraid  of  himself.  Mrs.  Bradlee 
saw  him  standing  and  staring,  and  found  time  to 
scold  him  for  his  uselessness  and  boobyism  and  intro 
duce  him  to  several  new  girls,  and  to  renew  his  ac 
quaintance  with  Elsie  Kent.  But  it  was  true  that 
he  had  never  cared  for  Elsie  Kent,  and  she  and  the 
others,  who  all  liked  attention  and  could  get  none 
from  him,  got  rid  of  him  with  equal  ease  and  com 
fort. 

He  thought  all  through  a  long,  wakeful  night  of 
Nelly  Merivale. 

He  struggled  feebly  against  the  spell.  He  remem 
bered  his  duty,  and  tried  to  compare  her  with  Leo 
nora.  Then  he  knew  for  the  first  time  how  he  had 
forgotten  Leonora. 

He  could  not  remember  clearly  how  she  looked.    lie 


LEONORA   OP,  THE   YAWMISH  115 

knew  that  she  was  tall  and  graceful  and  very  fair  to 
look  upon,  but  thus  much  he  knew  of  many  girls. 

He  could  not  remember  the  tones  of  her  voice,  nor 
her  smile. 

She  was  only  the  very  shadow  of  a  memory  to  him ; 
and  Nelly  Merivale — what  a  living,  glowing  reality  ! 
How  eagerly  his  mind  turned,  in  spite  of  itself,  to  her 
charm  of  look  and  speech  and  manner  ! 

Perhaps  he  had  really  loved  her,  once — at  all  events, 
he  had  thought  so.  Thought  so  ? — he  knew  it.  He 
had  forgotten  it  awhile,  but  he  knew  it  now;  and  her 
new  charm  for  him  wrought  with  the  old  boy-love  to 
make  his  mind  completely  subject  to  her. 

He  belonged  to  her — he  had  always  belonged  to  her ! 
Leonora  was  a  mistake. 

A  strong,  well-disciplined  mind  may  pass  through 
such  a  crisis  as  Moorhead  underwent  that  night  with 
out  harm  or  change,  and  spring  elastic  back  to  its  old 
faith  and  honor  not  a  whit  the  worse  for  temptation 
resisted,  and  stronger  than  ever  in  its  sterling  loyalty. 

But  when  a  mind  has  always  been  subservient  to 
the  moment's  wish,  undisciplined,  trained  by  custom 
to  yield  and  not  to  withstand,  to  indulge  the  fancy 
and  not  to  rule  it — how  can  it  be  trusted  ? 

It  may  happen  to  a  man  to  be  so  long  away  from 
the  woman  to  whom  he  has  given  his  love,  be  she 
maid  or  wife,  that  her  very  face  and  voice  are  forgot 
ten  ;  nor  is  it  likely  that  he  will  not  see  many  a  face 
that  he  admires  meanwhile.  That  is  no  shame  to 
him  in  itself. 

But  if  he  be  a  man,  he  will  look  in  his  heart  and 
find  her  name  graven  there  as  on  steel,  and  he  will 
remember  that  he  is  hers  and  be  proud  of  it.  His 


116  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

pride  will  conquer  any  foolish  fancies,  his  honest  love 
will  be  the  stronger  and  his  honor  the  brighter  for  the 
trial,  and  he  will  have  the  more  faith  in  himself  and 
the  more  delight  in  being  worthy  of  her. 

But  if  he  is  a  poor,  self-indulgent  weakling,  with 
a  heart  like  mush,  that  takes  every  impression  and 
holds  none — why,  then,  the  sooner  she  is  rid  of  him 
the  better  for  her. 

Moorhead  meant  to  do  right  because  it  was  the 
thing,  but  he  was  as  weak  as  water. 

He  persuaded  himself  that  all  this  sudden  turmoil 
in  his  thin  blood,  stirred  up  by  Nelly  Merivale,  arose 
from  the  fact  that  she  was  his  first  love,  and  that  it 
was  his  duty  to  her,  to  himself,  and  to  Leonora  to 
write  at  once  and  tell  her  he  had  made  a  mistake. 

But  there  again  he  was  weak.  He  dared  not  do  it. 
He  thought  of  her  as  pining  for  him  and  lamenting 
his  enforced  absence,  and  he  could  not  bear  the  idea 
of  breaking  her  heart.  It  was  horrible — dreadful- 
awful  !  He  might  sacrifice  himself  and  give  up  Mrs. 
Merivale — but  no  ;  he  felt  so  little  inclined  to  give  her 
up  that  he  told  himself  it  would  be  wrong  to  Leonora 
—it  would  be  deceiving  her — to  remain  true  to  his 
engagement  and  keep  his  promise. 

Being  in  this  highly  moral  and  creditable  pose  of 
mind,  he  was  rewarded  with  a  luminous  idea.  Per 
haps  he  could  persuade  Leonora  to  break  off  her  en 
gagement  to  him  without  letting  her  know  that  he 
was  trying  to  persuade  her.  So  he  arose  in  the  morn 
ing  and  wrote  her  a  long  letter — the  longest  he  had 
written  for  a  year  or  more. 

He  told  her  how  unworthy  he  was  of  her;  how  his 
conscience  troubled  him  for  having  taken  advantage 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII  117 

of  her  inexperience  to  win  her  love  ;  how  she  did  not 
love  him,  but  only  what  she  imagined  him  to  be ; 
how  she  never  would  have  promised  to  marry  him 
had  she  known  him  for  what  he  was  ;  how  that  same 
conscience  would  not  let  him  rest  till  he  had  told  her 
so.  But  one  thing  he  dared  not  tell  her,  and  that  was 
—the  truth. 

He  waited  in  eager  anxiety  for  her  letter.  When  it 
came  it  hurt  him  sorely,  for  it  was  cold  as  ice  and  true 
and  faithful  as  Leonora's  self,  and  all  it  said  was  this  : 

"  MY  DEAR  NORMAN, — 

"You  say  you  are  unworthy  of  me,  and  that  I  would  not 
have  promised  to  marry  you  had  I  known  you  well. 

"It  may  be  so.  What  I  would  or  would  not  have  done  can 
make  no  difference  ;  what  I  did  remains,  and  my  word  is 
sacred. 

"So  I  only  tell  you — for  your  own  sake  and  mine — what 
ever  these  faults  and  shortcomings  may  be  of  which  you  speak 
so  vaguely — cure  yourself  of  them,  as  you  are  in  honor  bound 
to  do,  even  as  I  am  in  honor  bound  to  keep  my  word  to  you. 

"LEONORA  WILLOUGHBY." 

Only  a  little  while  before  such  a  letter  would  have 
won  him  back  to  his  allegiance.,  but  he  had  counted 
on  a  diiferent  answer.  He  had  been  rather  proud  of 
his  sneaking  epistle,  regarding  it  as  an  act  of  able  and 
kindly  diplomacy,  and  had  expected  in  return  some 
reproach  or  complaint,  which  would  have  enabled 
him  to  write  a  most  magnanimous  letter  offering  to 
release  her  from  her  engagement  if  she  wished  it. 
And  even  if  she  did  not  wish  it,  he  had  felt  sure  that 
he  had  taken  a  step  towards  estrangement.  He  had 
certainly  painted  himself  black  enough  to  encourage 
such  a  hope.  Meanwhile  he  had  given  himself  up  en- 


118  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

tirely  to  his  infatuation  for  Mrs.  Merivale,  and  Leo 
nora's  influence  over  him  and  power  to  bless  had  be 
come  lost  to  him. 

Being  but  a  poor-spirited  fellow,  especially  in  his 
present  state  of  mind,  he  was  unable  to  appreciate 
her  steadfast  truth  and  downright  virtue,  which  he 
felt  only  vaguely  and  uneasily  as  a  reproach  to  his 
own  weakness.  He  was  conceited  enough  to  imagine 
that  her  words  proceeded  from  a  blind  love  for  him 
self,  which  could  not  or  would  not  regard  the  bad 
traits  which  he  had  so  more  than  frankly  confessed— 
mean  enough  to  hate  her  faithfulness,  since  it  stood 
in  the  way  of  his  own  inclination. 

He  was  even  so  small  of  spirit  as  to  despise  her  for 
not  despising  him  ! 

But  he  pitied  her,  too  —  he  hated  to  give  pain  to 
her,  and,  above  all,  to  himself.  He  dared  not  confess 
his  breach  of  faith,  and  meanwhile  sought  for  some 
roundabout  means  by  which  he  might  escape  with 
what  he  considered  credit  to  himself. 


XIV 

MOORHEAD  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  in  reply 
to  Leonora's  letter,  so  he  did  not  write,  and  found 
a  thirsty  solace  in  much  wine  and  as  much  as  possi 
ble  of  Mrs.  Merivale's  society. 

After  the  very  first  she  kept  him  at  a  distance 
rather,  with  a  pretty  air  of  offence  that  teased  and 
piqued  him  ;  till  at  last,  having  pursued  her  to  a  cozy 
corner,  he  made  full  confession  to  her. 

"  I  knew  it  before/'  said  she.  "  But  you  did  not 
tell  me  the  truth.  You  said  there  was  no  one." 

"  No  one  hut  you,  I  meant/'  said  he,  "  and  that  was 
true.  There  is  not,  never  has  been,  never  will  be, 
any  one  but  you — for  me." 

"  Then  your  engagement  is  broken  ?"  she  asked,  in 
a  careless  tone. 

"  Don't  call  it  an  engagement,"  said  he.  "  It  was 
a  mistake — a  dreadful  mistake." 

"  It's  not  broken,  then  ?"  said  she. 

"  Well,  no — not  exactly  that ;  but,  of  course,  it's 
impossible." 

"  So  I  should  have  supposed  from  what  little  I  have 
heard  of  it.  Pardon  for  my  frankness,  please;  I'm 
only  agreeing  with  you,  you  know.  Have  you  told 
this  Miss— Yellowby— " 

"Willoughby." 

"  Ah  !  Willoughby— I  beg  her  pardon.  Have  you 
told  Miss  Willoughby  that  it's  impossible  ?" 


120  LEONOKA.   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

"  N-no.  That  is — not  exactly— I — she — it  seems 
to  me  it  ought  to  come  from  her/' 

"Very  likely — in  the  first  place.  But  you  see  it 
has  come  already  from  you — not  to  her,  but  to  oth 
ers — to  me.  When  you  tell  me  your  engagement  to 
Miss  Willoughby  is  impossible,  you  ought  to  tell  her 
at  once.  You  can't  go  about  telling  other  people  that 
your  engagement  to  a  girl  is  impossible  and  not  tell 
her,  you  know." 

"It  isn't  the  thing  for  a  man  to  break  an  engage 
ment,  exactly." 

"  Bah  !" — she  snapped  her  fingers  with  a  pretty  up 
ward  gesture — "  that  for  the  Thing  and  all  its  wor 
shippers  !  You  good  people  here  make  me  weary  of 
life  with  your  Thing.  You  all  bow  down  to  it  like 
a  lot  of  darkies  round  an  idol — only  the  idol's  better, 
because  it  exists.  What  does  it  mean — to  you  ?  Noth 
ing  in  particular.  It's  useful,  perhaps,  as  an  excuse 
for  not  doing  what  you  daren't  do  for  fear  of  un 
pleasantness — for  fear  of  comment  from  others. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  Thing?  That  which 
looks  best,  in  general,  in  the  eyes  of  the  set  in  which 
you  move,  perhaps,  if  you  mean  anything. 

"  You  wouldn't  like,  for  example,  to  have  it  get 
about  that  you  —  a  man  —  had  done  anything  so  un 
conventional  as  to  break  an  engagement  with  a  girl. 
It  wouldn't  look  well.  You  haven't  the  least  objec 
tion  to  letting  people  know  you  don't  care  for  the  girl 
you've  promised  to  marry,  while  you  are  still  engaged 
to  her  and  she  still  trusts  you.  Why  ?  Because  that 
enables  you  to  pose  as  a  man  too  honorable  to  tell  her 
the  truth,  even  though  your  polite  fraud  is  a  living 
lie  that  may  well  make  her  life  and  yours  wretched, 


LEONORA   OF   THE  YAWMISn  121 

and  give  amusement  in  time  to  all  the  gossips  and 
scandal-mongers. 

"To  pose,  in  fact,  as  a  martyr  to  that  same  precious 
Thing  and  be  canonized  by  its  worshippers. 

<e  In  short,  '  Norman  Moorhead  broke  his  engage 
ment  himself '  —  fancy  a  man  breaking  his  engage 
ment  ! — doesn't  sound  well,  does  it  ?  So  you  say, 
'It's  not  the  Thing.' 

"But,  (  Norman  Moorhead,  poor  fellow,  is  engaged 
to  a  girl  he  doesn't  love,  and  is  too  true  a  gentleman  to 
break  the  engagement,  and  she  won't  break  it,  and  all 
the  time  he's  in  love  with  some  one  else.  Sad,  isn't  it  ? 
And  so  romantic — and  so  good  of  him.  The  way  he 
bears  it  is  simply  angelic  !' — sounds  well,  eh  ?" 

Moorhead  had  nothing  to  say  to  all  this. 

"You  see,"  she  went  on,  "I  know  you  pretty  well. 
I've  known  you  since  you  were  a  smooth,  well-be 
haved,  proper  little  boy. 

"Do  you  think  I  have  forgotten  the  model  child 
who  wouldn't  do  this  and  that  because  it  wouldn't 
please  mamma,  and  who  had  110  objection  whatever 
to  getting  his  scapegrace  brother  Tom  to  do  it  and 
be  unmercifully  thrashed  for  it  ?" 

"  You're  very  hard  on  me,  Nelly,"  said  Moorhead. 
"I  think  I'll  say  good-bye,  for  the  time  being." 

"It'll  be  good-bye  for  the  time  to  come,  as  well," 
said  she,  "unless  you  wait  until  I  have  done.  I've 
a  little  more  to  say  to  you." 

"Very  well,"  said  he. 

"Just  this.  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  to 
me  just  now  ?  That  /  was  the  only  one  ?  How  do 
you  dare  to  come  and  make  love  to  me — me! — when 
you're  still  engaged  to  that — girl  ? 


122  LEONORA  OF   TIIE  YAWMISII 

"  Is  that  the  Tiling  you're  so  fond  of  talking  about  ? 

"Now  you  may  go.  And  in  future  be  good  enough 
to  let  me  be.  I  want  nothing  more  to  do  with  you." 

She  knew  she  was  quite  safe  in  saying  this,  and  the 
answer  she  had  expected  came. 

"  Oh  !  Nelly,  forgive  me.     I—" 

"Mrs.  Merivale,  I  am  called/' 

"Don't  be  so  unkind.  I  beg  your  pardon.  What 
I  said  to  you  wasn't  the  —  was  wrong — and  imperti 
nent.  Please  don't  say  you  won't  see  me  again  !" 

She  looked  at  him  a  minute,  and  let  a  softer  look 
come  to  her  eyes  by  degrees  —  a  thing  at  which  she 
was  very  good — then  said  : 

"I  shall  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  you  until  you 
have  broken  your  engagement. 

"  This  is  not  a  case  of  '  Thing,'  but  of  '  Right 
and  Wrong '  /  The  next  time  you  venture  to  speak  to 
me  I  shall  ask  you  if  you  have  written  and  broken  it 
off.  You  can  tell  her  it  was  all  a  mistake,  and  that 
will  settle  it.  When  you  have  done  that  you  may 
come  and  see  me — if  you  care  to." 

"Ifl  care  to  !" 

"  That  will  do.  You  haven't  written  yet,  you  know 
— and  you  may  go  now.  Charley,"  she  said,  suddenly 
changing  her  cold  manner  for  one  almost  tender,  "I 

O        O 

don't  part  so  easily  from  an  old  friend.  I  won't  deny 
that  this  has  hurt  me  ;  and  what  I  have  said,  I  have 
said  for  your  own  good,  as  well  as  in — well — in  self- 
defence,  if  you  will.  Good-night." 

Moorhead  had  been  unable  to  appreciate  the  words 
of  Leonora,  but  all  Mrs.  Merivale  had  said  to  him 
had  seemed  the  voice  of  Virtue  in  the  language  of 
Eloquence. 


LEONORA.   OF   THE   YAWMISH  123 

Her  words  had  hurt  him  too,  but  he  submitted 
gratefully,  and  felt  it  a  high  privilege  and  luxury  to 
be  scolded  by  her. 

Had  he  heard  what  she  said  a  few  hours  later  he 
might  have  changed  his  mind,  but  even  then  he 
would  perhaps  have  found  some  blissful  interpreta 
tion  for  her  words,  for  his  infatuation  was  more  vio 
lent  than  ever. 

He  went  home  and  sat  down  to  obey  her. 

He  thought  when  he  took  up  his  pen  that  he  knew 
exactly  what  to  say  to  Leonora ;  but  was  it  a  lack  of 
ink  or  a  bad  pen  ?  The  words  would  not  come. 

"  Dear  Leonora/7  he  began.  No,  "Dear  Miss  Wil- 
loughby  " — under  the  circumstances —  No — "Dear 
Leonora." 

He  tore  these  up  one  after  the  other.  After  he 
had  settled  that  question,  not  at  all  to  his  satisfac 
tion,  he  forced  himself  to  write  a  plain,  straight 
forward  letter. 

How  cold  and  blunt  and  brutal  it  seemed  !  He 
destroyed  it  and  wrote  another,  which  seemed  too 
mean  and  sneaking  to  suit  him. 

Then  another,  which,  all  things  considered,  was 
too  tender.  The  next  seemed  ridiculous  and  flip 
pant.  He  fortified  himself  with  brandy  and  soda, 
and  more  brandy  and  soda,  till  he  could  hardly  read 
what  he  had  written. 

It  was  two  o'clock.  He  was  too  tired  to  write. 
His  eyes  and  his  fingers  ached.  He  would  put  it  ofi2 
till  morning,  when  his  head  was  clear. 


XV 


WHILE  Moorhead  was  trying  to  write,  Mrs.  Meri- 
vale  sat  in  her  own  boudoir  in  her  little  flat  on  Com 
monwealth  Avenue. 

She  wore  a  dainty  undress— whatever  that  may  be — 
and  was  surrounded  by  all  the  extravagant  appliances 
of  luxury. 

She  looked  tired  and  somewhat  older  than  she  had 
when  she  was  talking  with  Moorhead  that  evening. 

Her  complexion  was  not  quite  so  perfect,  and  the 
dimples  had  apparently  narrowed  and  lengthened  till 
they  almost  might  have  been  mistaken  for  incipient 
wrinkles. 

Nevertheless,  she  had  the  self-satisfied  look  of  one 
who  has  worked  hard  and  done  well. 

Another  young  woman,  whose  manner  was  a  close, 
and  dress  a  distant,  copy  of  her  own,  sat  near  her. 

Their  relation  was  intimate.  They  had  been  school 
mates  awhile,  though  otherwise  very  differently  placed 
in  life. 

Mrs.  Merivale's  father,  generally  known  as  Joe  Trask, 
had  usually  been  in  debt  and  out  of  pocket  because 
of  his  sporting  proclivities,  and,  having  no  credit  at  any 
young  ladies'  boarding-school,  could  not  afford  to  send 
his  daughter  to  one  until  old  Abner  Merivale,  having 
met  her,  suddenly  became  very  kind  to  the  Trasks 
and  paid  for  the  expensive  part  of  her  education. 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  125 

Meanwhile  she  had  established  a  sort  of  school  in 
timacy  with  Alice  McNally,  a  carpenter's  daughter. 

Afterwards,  when  Nelly  Trask  had  been  "finished," 
Alice,  having  imbibed  at  the  high -school  ambitious 
ideas  and  a  tendency  to  look  down  upon  her  own 
people  and  yearn  for  a  more  luxurious  existence  than 
her  home  was  likely  to  give  her,  called  upon  her  old 
school-mate,  and,  finding  her  in  the  lap  of  luxury, 
expressed  a  bitter  discontent  with  her  own  lot. 

Miss  Trask  was  about  to  become  Mrs.  Merivale  and 
to  go  abroad. 

She  was  not  enthusiastically  fond  of  Abner  Meri 
vale,  and  felt  that  it  might  be  more  than  useful  to 
have  a  companion,  bound  to  her  by  gratitude  and 
entire  dependence,  for  an  ally  in  case  of  emergencies. 
She  offered  to  take  Alice  with  her,  and  the  girl  had 
proved  a  most  invaluable  lieutenant  in  all  her  battles 
and  skirmishes. 

Mrs.  Merivale  was  a  schemer  and  needed  some  one 
with  whom  to  discuss  her  plans,  who  would  sympa 
thize,  co-operate,  and  say  nothing. 

The  two  had  managed  Abner  Merivale  entirely  to 
the  bride's  taste  during  what  little  of  his  life  was 
left,  and  since  had  conducted  many  a  triumphant 
little  campaign  against  the  world. 

"Alice/7 said  Mrs.  Merivale,  "give  me  my  pick-up, 
will  you  ? — there's  a  good  girl  !" 

Alice  brought  from  a  rosewood  cabinet  a  dainty 
flask  and  liqueur-glass  and  set  them  by  her. 

"  Thanks  !  Where's  yours  ?"  Alice  brought  an 
other  glass  and  filled  both. 

"  There— now  we're  cozy.  Sit  you  down  and  let's 
chat  a  bit.  Do  you  know,  I've  been  wondering  lately 


126  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

what  we  were  to  do  ?  The  late  Mr.  Merivale's  fortune 
would  have  stood  anything  short  of  Monte  Carlo  ;  but 
that  nearly  emptied  the  coffers,  you  know." 

"I  know,"  said  Alice.  "Well,  is  there  anything 
on  ?" 

"Yes  ;  it's  all  plain  sailing  now;  nothing  to  do  but 
work  the  Back  Bay  a  little  longer— be  good— avoid 
slang — have  a  fad  or  two— (mine's  Esoteric  Buddhism 
at  present,  and  the  Zunis,  with  a  vague,  inexpressible 
connection  between  the  two) — take  in  a  lot  of  dreary 
teas — show  a  becoming  respect  for  Bostonian  institu 
tions  and  ancient  landmarks — talk  intelligently  about 
the  Norumbega  theory,  the  pictures  at  Doll  &  Kich- 
ards's,  and  the  Symphony  Orchestra — agitate  the  sub 
ject  of  a  new  Music  Hall — and  there  we  are.  Not  so 
bad  fun,  either— playing  propriety  !" 

"Not  when  one's  v\\\y playing  it,"  said  Alice. 

"I  agree.  You've  heard  me  speak  of  Charley 
Moorhead — now  called  C.  Norman  Moorhead ;  used 
to  be  Charley,  to  distinguish  him  from  Tom,  who  is 
also  Norman  — Charley  Moorhead,  who  was  so  blue 
and  glum  after  my  marriage  ?" 

"  Is  it  he  ?" 

"  '  He  is  it,'  as  we  used  to  say  when  we  were  wee 
things,  and  played  games  where  one  was  chosen  for 
the  useful  and  stupid  part  of  the  game.  He's  chosen 
—elected." 

"Does  he  accept  the  office— vote  for  himself,  in 
fact  ?" 

"Does  he  ?  He's  gone  clean  daft  at  the  prospect- 
can  hardly  keep  away.  Engaged  to  a  girl,  but  she's 
'way,  'way  out  West  —  a  backwoods  missy  in  some  im 
possible  place— and  I've  made  him  give  her  up.  Sorry 


LEONORA   OF    THE    YAWMISII  127 

— hate  to  interfere  with  her  enjoyment  of  life  ;  but 
we  had  to  have  him,  didn't  we,  Alice,  dear  V 

"Rich?" 

"  He  ?  Beautifully  !  Richer  than  I  ever  dreamed 
he'd  be — or  he  might  have  been  No.  1,  instead  of  poor 
dear  Abner,  I'm  thinking,  Alice." 

"Yes,  we  do  need  him,"  said  Alice.  "How  soon 
will  it  be,  do  you  think  ?" 

"Oh,  very  soon — it's  got  to  be,  you  know.  First, 
because  I  can't  stand  this  Back  Bay  business,  and 
these  poky  people  with  their  intellectual  fads,  much 
longer ;  secondly,  because  stories  '11  be  floating  in 
from  over  across,  and  it's  on  the  cards  they  may  not 
care  for  me,  though,  so  far,  I'm  a  tearing  success  ; 
thirdly,  because  people  are  absurd  and  unkind  enough 
to  want  their  money  for  value  received. 

"  I  suppose  I  might  get  a  loan  from  little  Timmons, 
at  a  pinch,  if  it's  absolutely  necessary ;  but  I'd  rather 
not,  Alice." 

"That  little  boy  with  the  downy  upper  lip?" 

Mrs.  Merivale  nodded. 

"No,  I  should  think  not.  Why,  that  child,  to 
judge  from  his  looks  when  he's  with  you — he'd  be  so 
proud  to  have  lent  you  money  that  he  wouldn't  be  able 
to  help  going  about  and  bragging  of  it.  Don't  do  it. 
I  can  stand  off  these  people  with  bills  a  little  longer." 

"You're  not  bad  at  that,  Alice.  How  do  you  do 
it?" 

"  Give  'em  more  orders.  They're  so  imbued  with 
the  desire  to  sell  things,  they  forget  all  the  things 
they've  sold  and  not  been  paid  for,  in  the  delight  of 
making  one  new  sale  and  the  anticipation  of  being 
paid  by-and-by." 


128  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

"  So  they  do,  as  a  general  rule/'  said  Mrs.  Merivale, 
laughing.  "And  while  I'm  in  with  the  lot  I  run  with 
now,  they'll  keep  on  selling  and  anticipating,  I  think. 
So  much  the  better  for  them  and  for  us.  It  won't  be 
long  before  everything's  right." 

"I  shall  be  glad — glad  when  you're  free  from  all 
this  anxiety  and  worry,  poor  dear.  It  isn't  good  for 
you  !"  said  Alice,  affectionately. 

"So  shall  I." 

So  Mrs.  Merivale,  to  her  confidante ;  but  after 
wards,  alone,  she  spoke  to  herself  as  follows  : 

"  It's  strange,  when  I  think  of  it,  that  I  could  talk 
so  to  Alice  —  of  him.  Partly  force  of  habit,  I  s'pose  ; 
partly  because  I  can't  bear  to  let  her  see  that  I — that 
I — really — care  for  him.  But  I'd  take  him  if  neither 
he  nor  I  had  a  cent  to  our  names.  And  as  for  that 
wild  Western  girl,  she'd  better  not  stand  between  us, 
I  wonder  if  he's  written  that  letter  yet  ?  Of  course 
he  has.  Well — he'll  come  to-morrow  !" 

Moorhead  called  next  day  and  found  Mrs.  Merivale 
at  home. 

"Have  you  written?"  she  asked,  with  an  inward 
flutter  of  excitement  and  an  indifferent  air. 

"Yes,"  said  Moorhead. 

He  had  been  totally  unable  to  write  that  letter  yet, 
and  had  meant  to  say  so  frankly,  submit  to  her  blame, 
and  ask  her  advice;  but  when  she  said.  "Have  you 
written  ?"  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  could 
say  "Yes,"  quite  truthfully,  with  reference  to  the 
former  letter  in  which  he  had  declared  himself  un 
worthy,  thinking  that  Leonora  might  be  led  thereby 
to  cut  him  adrift. 

"You  have — as  I  told  you  ?" 


LEONOIIA  OP   THE   YAWMISII  129 

One  prevarication  follows  another  easily. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  again  telling  himself  that  she  had 
told  him  to  write  a  letter  breaking  the  engagement, 
and  that  the  one  he  had  formerly  sent  was  written 
with  that  end  in  view. 

"  Do  you  mind  letting  me  see  the  answer  when  yon 
get  it  ?" 

"No,  indeed,"  said  he,  "  or,  at  least — there  may  be 
things  in  it  that  I  ought  not  to  show  even  to  you." 

"You'll  let  me  know  when  you  get  it,  will  you  ?" 

"I  will." 

"  Very  well,"  said  she.     "  Good  boy." 

"  That  means  I  may  stay  and  see  you  awhile  ? 
And  you  won't  send  me  away  altogether  ?" 

"  Oh — yes — you  may  stay  if  you  care  to." 

"If  I  care  to  ?  Nelly,  if  you  had  any  idea  lioiv  I 
care  to  !" 

"Do  you  really  care  so  much  ?" 

The  rest  of  the  conversation,  which  lasted  some 
two  hours,  was  much  in  the  same  strain.  It  dwelt 
on  the  old  times  before  her  marriage,  on  reminis 
cences  of  past  scenes,  on  the  delight  of  the  present, 
and  grew  in  passionate  eagerness  on  Moorhead's  part 
and  graciousness  on  Mrs.  Merivale's,  till  at  the  end 
of  it  they  found  themselves  vowed  to  each  other. 

After  that  Moorhead  came  every  day,  and  brought 
flowers  and  gems  and  costly  gifts,  and  the  useful 
Alice  was  able  to  say  incidentally  to  the  tradesmen 
that  Mrs.  Merivale  was  soon  to  marry  Mr.  Moorhead, 
on  the  strength  of  which  duly  authenticated  state 
ment  they  were  willing  to  wait. 

This  blissful  state  of  things  lasted  a  little  while, 
and  then  came  a  stormy  scene,  when  Moorhead  was 


130  LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISII 

obliged  to  confess  that  lie  had  not  written  the  letter, 
and  to  explain  his  prevarication. 

Mrs.  Merivale  sent  him  out  of  her  presence. 

"What  is  the  matter  ?"  Alice  asked  that  evening, 
when  she  found  Mrs.  Merivale  brooding  long  with  her 
head  on  her  hands  and  her  elbows  on  her  knees. 

"He  has  not  written,"  said  Mrs.  Merivale. 

"  Why  should  he,  after  all  ?"  said  Alice. 

"It  can  mean  only  one  thing/'' said  Mrs.  Merivale. 
"He  is  still  fond  of  her." 

"Suppose  he  is  ?"  said  the  practical  Alice.  "He's 
going  to  marry  you  ;  then  much  good  may  his  fond 
ness  do  her.  You  don't  want  it.  It  would  only  bore 
you — after  a  bit.  Better  without  it.  One  can't  have 
everything." 

"  But  I  will,"  said  Mrs.  Merivale  ;  and  then  in  a 
fright  she  sent  for  Moorhead  back,  lest  she  had  gone 
too  far  in  sending  him  away. 

He  found  her  in  a  new  mood  when  he  came.  She 
had  determined  that,  come  what  might,  she  would  not 
lose  him,  and,  angry  as  she  was,  controlled  herself,  and 
was  grieved,  and  gentle,  and  sweetly  forgiving. 

"Charley,"  said  she — "you  see  I  must  call  you  by 
the  old  name — you  have  done  me  a  sore  wrong.  I 
trusted  and  believed  you.  And  you — what  have  you 
given  me  in  return  ?  You  have  dishonored  me  by 
making  me  promise  to  marry  you  when  you  still  re 
mained  promised  to  some  one  else.  Now,  to  me,  be 
trothal  is  a  sort  of  marriage— a  sacred  tie.  You  have 
nearly  broken  my  heart.  And  yet — poor  fool  as  I  am 
— I  am  willing  to  trust  and  believe  you  still.  Tell  me 
again  that  you  love  me  and  no  one  else." 

"I  do,"  said  Moorhead.     "You  know  I  do.     Else 


LEONORA  OF   THE   YAWMISH  131 

why  should  I  try  to  make  you  believe  it  ?  If  I  cared 
for  her  should  I  not  have  been  content  to  be  as  I  was 
—hers  r 

"As  you  are — hers,  you  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Merivale, 
very  sadly. 

"No  !" 

"  Then,  why  will  you  not  break  that  engagement  ?" 

"Nelly,  I  thought  I  loved  her  —  once.  She  was 
the  only  girl  there — we  were  much  together." 

"  Oh  1  spare  me  that  r 

"  When  I  saw  you  the  memory  of  the  old  time  and 
the  first  love  came  over  me,  and  I  knew  it  was  you  I 
loved.  I  could  not  resist — I  had  to  tell  you. 

"  I  would  tell  her  so — I  wish  to  tell  her  so,  and  have 
it  all  over  between  us — but  when  I  try  to  write  to  her 
— and  I  have  tried — I  can't  do  it.  She  was  kind  to 
me — she  saved  my  life.  I  can't  bring  myself  to  wound 
her  in  return. 

"  Yet  I  must.  It  would  be  doing  all  three  of  us  the 
greatest  wrong  if  I  should  marry  her.  But  how  can 
/—a  man — deliberately  write  to  her  and  tell  her,  when 
I  have  taught  her  to  look  forward  to  the  future  I  have 
promised  ?  I  simply  can't.  Sometimes  I  feel — oh, 
Nelly,  it's  maddening  !  Use  your  woman's  art  to  help 
me  and  tell  me  some  way  out  of  it  \" 

For  a  second  the  words  "Hang  yourself — and  so 
much  the  better  for  her  and  me  !"  were  on  the  tip  of 
her  tongue,  but  she  restrained  herself.  "  Give  me 
time  to  think,"  said  she,  in  a  weary  tone,  "and  I'll 
try  to  help  you.  Now  go.  .That's  all  I  can  bear  for 
to-day.  I'll  send  word  when  I  want  you." 

After  he  was  gone  she  said  to  herself,  "  Poor  fel 
low!  What  a  weakling  he  is!  He  cannot  do  an  tin- 


132  LEONOKA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

pleasant  tiling.  And  yet— I  can't  let  him  go."  And 
then  she  added,  hardening  her  heart  bravely,  "  I 
mustn't  forget  that  this  is  business  with  me  as  well  as 
pleasure.  As  Alice  says,  '  we  need  him/  And,  after 
all,  the  weaker  the  better  to  manage.  "Well,  I'll  try 
to  make  it  easy  for  him,  poor  boy." 
In  two  days  she  sent  for  him  again. 


XVI 


MRS.  MERIVALE  had  a  plan. 

The  discovery  that  Moorhead  had  not  enough 
strength  of  mind  to  write  and  break  off  his  engage 
ment,  that  he  still  felt  grateful  towards  Leonora, 
was  ashamed  of  the  part  ho  was  playing  towards 
her,  and  afraid  of  giving  her  pain,  threw  her  into 
perplexity  and  deep  dismay. 

She  had  no  objection,  on  principle,  to  his  being  en 
gaged  to  two  people  at  once,  provided  she  herself  was 
the  one  to  be  married  and  cared  for ;  but  she  sorely 
feared  the  extent  and  effect  on  her  own  plans  of  his 
feeling  for  Leonora.  She  had  determined  to  marry 
him,  and  to  settle  down  to  a  peaceful,  conventional 
existence,  and  she  was  fond  of  him.  She  was  anxious 
that  no  influence  should  mar  her  plans  or  diminish 
his  affection  for  her.  Leonora  was  an  unknown 
quantity. 

Mrs.  Merivale  did  not  feel  quite  sure  of  her  own 
position,  even  after  her  marriage  should  have  taken 
place.  She  knew  that  her  life  abroad  had  not  coin 
cided  with  the  sacred  Thing  which  was  Moorhead's 
religion,  and  she  constantly  feared  the  arrival  of  re 
ports  of  her  conduct,  magnified  in  travelling. 

People  would  be  shocked,  Moorhead's  pride  in  her 
would  be  hurt ;  he  would  not  hesitate  to  throw  her 
over  before  marriage — and  after  marriage,  if  there 


134  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISII 

were  any  other  influence  to  draw  him  away  from  her ; 
he  would  very  likely  put  her  on  an  allowance  and  go 
off  to  seek  sympathy  somewhere  else. 

Then,  naturally  enough,  she  wanted  her  husband 
all  to  herself. 

She  need  not  have  been  afraid  of  reports  from 
abroad,  for  she  had  never  succeeded  in  attracting  the 
attention  which  she  fondly  supposed  had  been  ac 
corded  her.  She  had  been  simply  a  very  silly  girl, 
reckless  and  extravagant  in  her  first  freedom,  and  de 
lighting  to  pose  as  fast.  Every  one  who  had  noticed 
the  pose  had  seen  through  it  and  smiled,  or  been 
momentarily  annoyed  at  its  folly.  No  one  remem 
bered  it.  Its  only  effect  was  its  reaction  on  her  own 
state  of  mind,  for  she  had  come  to  imagine  herself  a 
scheming  adventuress  with  a  past,  in  need  of  rehabili 
tation. 

So  she  had  come  back  to  her  first  love,  succeeded 
in  infatuating  him  and  stealing  his  easy  affections — a 
part  quite  in  keeping  with  her  own  estimate  of  her 
character  —  and  now  found  herself  in  a  situation 
which,  from  her  point  of  view,  was  dramatic  to  a  de 
gree.  She  had  spent  much  of  her  time — as  perhaps 
most  people  do — in  acting  out  little  comedies  under 
the  impression  that  they  were  tragedies,  and  had  be 
come  an  accomplished  amateur  schemer  under  the 
cherished  delusion  that  she  was  a  wily  adventuress, 
such  as  infests  the  mind  of  the  novelist. 

Her  plan  was  worthy  of  the  occasion,  and  had  it 
not  been  supremely  absurd  would  have  been  most  ex 
cellent,  in  that  it  involved,  at  a  considerable  sacrifice, 
the  ultimate  earthly  happiness  of  all  concerned. 

Leonora  was  to  be  made  happy — without  Moorhead. 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH  135 

Not  for  her  own  sake,  but  because  Moorhead,  rightly 
or  wrongly,  was  full  of  the  idea  that  she  was  devoted 
to  him  and  that  he  was  depriving  her  of  all  hope  in 
depriving  her  of  himself.  Therefore  it  was  necessary 
to  remove  his  impression  that  she  was  pining  for  him. 

Moorhead  was  to  be  made  happy  in  his  Nelly,  his 
first  love,  and  his  said  Nelly  in  him.  Leonora  once 
off  his  conscience,  Mrs.  Merivale  had  no  doubt  she 
could  be  eliminated  from  his  heart.  That  sensitive 
organ  once  free  from  external  influences,  she  was 
sure  that  she  could  manage  him  to  her  own  taste. 

The  sacrifice  was  to  be  pecuniary  and  was  to  come 
out  of  the  worldly  goods  of  Moorhead.  Mrs.  Meri 
vale  was  averse,  as  a  rule,  to  the  sacrifice  of  worldly 
goods,  but  as  the  price  of  a  woman's  dearest  possession 
— her  own  way — she  did  not  mind  giving  up  Moor- 
head's  property  even  to  the  half  any  more  than  she 
would  have  objected  to  spending  it  for  any  other  ar 
ticle  that  might  have  pleased  her  fancy. 

There  was  also  a  fourth  person  to  be  benefited.  All 
that  remained  was  to  convince  the  necessary  persons 
of  the  feasibility  of  her  scheme.  If  they  would  but 
see  it  as  she  did  all  would  be  well. 

She  bent  all  her  energies  to  this  task.  When  Moor 
head  came  in  obedience  to  her  summons  he  was  de 
lighted. 

She  was  arrayed  for  conquest  and  welcomed  him 
with  a  sad  forgiving  dignity,  tempered  judiciously  by 
a  tender  feeling  for  himself  and  sympathy  with  his 
troubles. 

Here  was  a  glorious  creature  whose  only  thought 
was  for  him.  This  flattered  his  self-esteem,  and  in 
ten  minutes  from  the  time  he  entered  the  room  he 


136  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

was  ready  to  believe  in  anything  she  said,  to  do  any 
thing  she  told  him,  to  think  anything  she  wished. 

She  knew  the  signs  of  the  lover's  mood  :  the  head  a 
little  bent  forward — the  meek,  upward  glance — the 
pleading  set  of  the  lips — the  soft,  lingering  clasp  in 
which  he  held  her  hand  till  she  took  it  away — the  ab 
ject  humility  of  manner,  which  was  so  unlike  his  usual 
style.  All  the  signs  of  victory  were  plain  before  her. 

She  watched  him  narrowly  while  she  talked  for 
some  twenty  minutes  of  other  people's  affairs,  and  of 
what  was  doing  in  town,  giving  him  no  chance  to 
speak  of  what  was  uppermost  in  his  mind,  and  saw  his 
increasing  impatience  with  great  satisfaction. 

"Now,"  said  she  to  that  iirward  confidant  who  sym 
pathizes  with  our  mischievous  intentions,  "he'll  do. 
He's  in  a  mood  to  throw  reason  to  the  winds  and  do 
whatever  I  tell  him.  As  for  Tom — but  never  mind 
him  yet ;  one  thing  at  a  time." 

She  stopped  in  the  easy  flow  of  her  discourse  and 
looked  at  Moorhead  in  a  way  to  delight  his  heart,  by  a 
suggestion  of  mutual  understanding.  There  was  a 
proprietorship,  and  authority  too,  in  her  look  that 
pleased  him  beyond  measure. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "you  do  not  seem  altogether  in 
terested  in  what  I  am  saying  ?" 

"You  promised  to  help  me,"  he  said. 

"Did  I  ?  Oh  ! — yes,  I  said  I  could  help  you — I  can 
if  you'll  do  as  I  tell  you. 

"But  I  want  obedience.  Otherwise  I  can  do  noth 
ing.  I'm  not  one  of  those  people  who  care  to  give  ad 
vice  for  the  sake  of  talking  and  then  be  laughed  at  for 
my  pains. 

"  So  if  you'll  mind,  you  can  have  my  help,  such  as 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII  137 

it  is  ;  and  if  you  are  not  sure  that  you  will — why,  you 
may  go  to  some  one  else  whom  you  can  trust.  I  think 
you  owe  it  to  rne  to  trust  me,  Charley,  for  you've  hurt 
me  sorely." 

"I'd  trust  you  with  my  life  and  happiness/7  he 
began. 

"Very  good,"  said  she,  "  only  you  happen  to  have 
given  all  that  to  some  one  else  to  take  care  of — and 
you  must  get  it  back  first,  it  would  seem. 

"  The  simplest  way,  as  I  said  before,  would  be  to 
write  and  ask  for  it — say  it  was  a  mistake,  and  that 
kind  of  thing.  But  you  won't  do  that — it  is  hard  for 
you,  and  I  won't  ask  it  of  you." 

"I  do  not  want  to  be  unkind  to  her,"  said  he. 
"What  I  want  to  do  is  to  get  it  back  without  hurt 
ing  her.  She  ought  to  break  the  engagement;  I  can't. 
And  I'm  sure,  with  all  your  tact  and  delicacy  and  in 
tuitive  regard  for  people's  feelings  and  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  Helen,  you  ought  to  be  able  to  find  a 
way." 

She  almost  laughed  aloud  at  his  compliments,  but 
repaid  him  in  kind. 

"Well,"  she  said,  softly,  "I  honor  your  unwilling 
ness  to  give  pain ;  it's  like  you  —  though  you  have 
made  me  unhappy,  and  I  will  do  what  I  can.  Only, 
if  my  plan  should  seem  at  first  extravagant  and  ab 
surd  to  you" — ("It  won't,"  said  he) — "you  must  re 
member  that  I,  a  woman  myself" — ("And  such  a 
woman  !"  said  he) — "understand  women  better  than 
you  can ;  yes,  and  I  know  something  of  men,  too,  to 
my  sorrow ;  and  you  are  not  to  fly  off  at  a  tangent,  but 
give  heed  to  what  I  say,  and  believe  that  I  have 
thought  it  out  carefully  for  your — for  ~botli  our  sakes; 


138  LEONORA   OF  THE   YAWMISH 

Charles,  and  am  not  giving  you  careless  or  unreason 
able  advice.  In  fact,  you  have  put  your  case  in  my 
hands,  and  you  must  obey  me  or  I  cannot  manage  it." 

Promise  ?  Obey  her  ?  He  was  delighted  through 
and  through.  Obedience  implied  ownership,  in  a  way 
— he  belonged  to  her. 

"  Suppose,"  said  she,  "  that  your  unfortunate  en 
gagement  need  not  be  broken  off  at  all,  but  simply  be 
put  in  the  way  of  dying  a  natural  death,  to  the  mut 
ual  satisfaction  of  both  parties  ?  What  should  you 
say  to  that  ?" 

"I'd  give  anything — 

"  Would  you  ?  Remember  that,  for  you'll  have  to 
give  something. 

"Do  you  remember  the  details  of  Miss  Willough- 
by's  personal  appearance  very  well  ? — so,  for  instance, 
that  you  could  draw  an  accurate  picture  of  her  if  you 
were  an  artist  ?" 

"No,  I  don't.  Her  face  seems  to  have  faded  out 
of  my  memory.  I  have  a  general  idea  of  how  she 
looked,  but  not  an  exact  one." 

"How  long  is  it  since  you  saw  her  ?" 

"About  three  years." 

"  Ah  !    Now  suppose  Miss  Willoughby  had  a  sister." 

"Yes." 

"  Suppose  that  sister  was  about  her  height  and  com 
plexion,  and  very  much  like  her  in  every  way." 

"Yes." 

"  Suppose  you  knew  nothing  of  that  sister's  exist 
ence  ?" 

"  Well  ?" 

"  And  that  sister  were  to  come  to  you  now  and  say, 
'I  am  Leonora,'  and  were  to  remind  you  of  things 


LEONORA   OF   THE    YAWMISII  139 

that  happened  when  you  were  there,  and  which  no 
one  had  known  but  you  and  Miss  Willoughby :  would 
it  ever  occur  to  you  to  doubt  that  she  was  your  Miss 
Willoughby,  and  might  you  not  have  married  her  be 
lieving  her  to  be  the  same  ?" 

"Why,  yes.     I  suppose  so — certainly.     Why?" 

i(  Wait  a  minute.  Let's  suppose  again.  What  shall 
it  be  this  time  ?  Suppose  a  certain  young  man,  who 
shall  be  nameless,  had  a  brother  who  was  generally 
considered  the  scapegrace  and  black  sheep  of  the 
family. 

"Suppose  that  a  report — never  mind  what — got 
about,  concerning  this  brother  and  reached  the  fa 
ther's  ears,  and  made  him  so  angry  that  he  turned 
the  scrapegrace  brother  out  of  his  house  and  made  a 
new  will. 

"  Suppose  the  model  brother  was  quite  able  to  con 
tradict  this  report  and  prove  it  false,  but  did  not, 
and  allowed  the  father  to  die  believing  it  ?" 

Moorhead  had  turned  very  red,  and  white,  and  red 
again.  "How  ? — what  makes  you  say  that,  Helen  ?" 

"How  do  I  know  it,  you  mean  ?  Oh,  never  mind  ! 
I'm  just  supposing  a  case.  Attend,  please,  and  not 
interrupt." 

"Very  well/'  said  Moorhead,  looking,  however, 
very  ill. 

"  Then  suppose  the  model  brother  to  be  very  well- 
to-do,  and  the  scapegrace  to  be  on  the  verge  of  star 
vation  and  running  to  rags — all  because  of  the  model 
brother's  silence  and  the  consequent  testamentary 
dispositions." 

"Nell!"  he  cried,  "you  are  unjust.  The  reason 
I  said  nothing  was  because — well — because  I  felt  my- 


140  LEONORA   OF    THE   YAWMISII 

self  to  be  the  best  fitted  to  represent  the  family  and 
keep  the  property  together  as  it  had  been  kept  for 
generations  —  and  I  didn't  want  to  see  Tom  make 
ducks  and  drakes  of  his  share.  I  would  have  seen 
that  he  got  all  he  wanted — I  should  have  felt  that  I 
held  it  in  trust  for  him.  I  offered  him  an  allowance 
at  once,  and  he  was  angry  and  unreasonable  and  quar 
relled  with  me,  on  the  very  day  of  the  funeral,  though 
he  didn't  know  the  reason  of  the  will.  Imagine  quar 
relling  at  such  a  time  !  And  I  haven't  heard  from  him 
since.  I  have  always  taken  it  for  granted  he  was  get 
ting  on  well  enough,  or  I  should  have  heard.  You 
are  unjust  to  me,  Helen." 

"Will  you  kindly  remember  that  I  am  only  sup 
posing  a  case,  and  keep  still  and  give  your  mind  to 
what  I  say  ?  What  do  /  know  about  you  and  Tom 
and  your  affairs  ? 

"Now,  suppose  that  the  model  brother,  having  far 
more  than  he  needs,  and  being  blessed  with  a  pecul 
iarly  tender  conscience  so  that  he  cannot  bear  to  be 
the  cause  of  suffering,  should  see  a  way  whereby  he 
can  make  amends  to  his  brother  with  great  advantage 
to  himself  ?  Do  you  think  he'd  do  it,  Charley  ?" 

"If  you  told  him  to,  I  don'fc  see  how  he  could  dis 
obey  !"  said  Moorhead. 

"  Oh  !  Well,  suppose  the  model  brother,  who,  after 
all,  has  his  faults  and  weaknesses — who  hasn't  ? — to 
have  become  engaged,  by  reason  of  his  affectionate 
nature,  to  two  ladies  at  once. 

"Why  should  he  not  make  up  with  the  scapegrace, 
who  by  this  time  has  certainly  had  enough  of  starva 
tion  and  rags  and  will  listen  to  reason  if  properly  put 
to  him  (there's  everything  in  the  method  of  approach)  ? 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH  141 

Charley,  get  him  home,  give  him  the  best  of  every 
thing,  except  the  society  of  marriageable  girls,  from 
whom  he  must  be  kept  clear ;  and  when  he's  had  a  fair 
taste  of  enjoyment  offer  him,  not  an  allowance,  which 
he  won't  stand,  but  independence  and  comfort  for  life, 
and  beg  a  favor  of  him  in  return.  He'll  accept,  and 
he'll  grant  the  favor  if  he's  properly  managed." 

"  The  favor  is  ?" 

"  To  marry  a  girl  who,  by  the  account  of  a  well- 
known  connoisseur  in  girls  who  has  had  every  oppor 
tunity  to  form  his  opinion,  is  among  the  most  beau 
tiful  of  her  sex,  highly  educated,  talented,  of  sweet 
disposition,  an  even  temper,  and  who  must  be,  from 
her  peculiarly  lonesome  position,  somewhat  easy  to 
win — namely,  Miss  Willoughby  !" 

"  Tom  marry  Miss  Willoughby  !    But  how  can  he  ?" 

"Stupid!  By-the-way,  were  you  telling  me  the 
truth  when  you  happened  to  say  the  other  day  that 
you  had  never  mentioned  Tom  to  Miss  Willoughby  ?" 

"  I  certainly  never  said  a  word  to  her  about  him." 

<(  Mm.  Sore  subject,  perhaps.  Now,  why  do  you 
think  I  put  all  those  suppositions  about  a  possible 
sister  of  hers  ?  You  admitted  that  you  might  marry 
her,  did  you  not  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  this  is  a  parallel  case,  isn't  it  ?  Only  strong 
er.  Tom  goes  out — as  you.  Ten  to  one  she  doesn't 
know  the  difference.  Feed  him  up  and  he's  awfully 
like  you.  I  know,  because  I  saw  him  a  little  after 
I  got  home  ;  and  even  then  I  thought  for  a  moment 
it  was  you,  and  wondered  what  on  earth  you  were 
looking  so  seedy  for. 

"  Time  makes  great  changes ;  lapse  of  memory  would 


142  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMtSEI 

account  for  others.  A  beard  would  account  for  still 
more  difference  in  looks. 

"  Coach  him  up  on  all  that  passed  between  you. 
You  weren't  there  long.  You  can  teach  him  what 
you  remember.  What  you  don't  remember  isn't  nec 
essary  for  him  to  remember  either. 

"  It  seems  absurd  at  first,  perhaps  ;  but  when  you 
come  to  think  it  over  it's  feasible  enough — eh  ?" 

"  But  Tom  will  never  do  it.  He'd  never  consent 
to  masquerade  under  my  name — " 

"  Stupid  again.  What  are  you  generally  called,, 
Charles  or  Norman  ?  It's  been  C.  Norman  lately, 
hasn't  it  ?  You  never  cared  much  to  be  called  Charley, 
and  you  were  called  so  to  distinguish  you  from  Tom  ? 
What  did  she  call  you  —  in  moments  of  tender  ec 
stasy  ?" 

"  Norman,"  said  he,  flushing,  and  looking  vexed. 

"  Exactly.  You're  C.  Norman  Moorhead  and  Tom's 
T.  Norman  Moorhead,  eh  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  what's  to  prevent  his  going  as  Norman 
Moorhead,  just  as  you  did  ?" 

"  It's  true  ;  he  can,  of  course.     But  he  won't — " 

"I  grant  you,  that's  a  difficulty.  But  it  isn't  by 
any  means  insurmountable.  I  know  his  character, 
and  I  can  lead  him  by  it.  I  don't  mind  doing  him  a 
good  turn  either.  If  you  do  exactly  as  /  tell  you  you 
shall  get  him  home,  and  have  him  out  there  and  offer 
ing  himself  to  her  before  very  long. 

"  But  it — it's  such  a  queer  thing  to  do.  It  seems 
such  a  swindle  !" 

"  Look  here,  my  friend— don't  accuse  me  of  plan 
ning  a  swindle.  I  won't  have  it,  Charles. 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH  143 

e(  Listen.  When  you  went  out  there  she  would  have 
fallen  in  love  with  you  just  the  same  if  your  name 
had  been  Thomas  instead  of  Charles  ?  Now  suppose., 
all  other  things  being  as  they  were,  you  had  been  some 
one  else  than  the  person  you  called  yourself — would 
that  have  made  any  difference  ?  No  !  Then  suppose 
Tom  goes  out — it's  he  she  sees,  not  you.  She  accepts 
him  as  he  is — on  his  own  merits.  He  makes  love  to 
her  and  she  returns  it.  Does  she  love  him  any  the 
less — or  any  the  more — because  she  thinks  he  is  some 
one  else  ? 

"  The  idea  that  he  is  you  simply  acts  as  an  intro 
duction  to  her  good  graces. 

"If  there's  any  difference  in  you  two  so  striking 
that  she  objects  to  him,  she  won't  marry  him. 

"  In  such  a  case  he  can  absolve  her.  If  there's  no 
diiference  that  she  is  able  to  see,  I  don't  see  how  she's 
to  suffer  by  it.  Do  you  ?" 

"But  it  must  all  come  out  some  time,"  said  Moor- 
head,  somewhat  bewildered,  "and  then — " 

"And  then  ?  She  simply  finds  that  the  man  she 
loves  as  her  husband  is  not  you  but  some  one  else. 
But  he's  none  the  less  the  man  she  loves.  If  a  girl 
loves  one  brother,  thinking  he's  another  brother,  it 
doesn't  alter  the  fact  that  lie  and  not  the  other  is  the 
one  she  loves.  Does  it  ? 

"  If  she  finds  she  loves  Tom  well  enough  to  marry 
him,  it  doesn't  matter  what  his  name  is,  does  it  ?" 

"But—"  said  Moorhead. 

"  But  what  ?" 

"It's  passing  off  Tom  for  me." 

"  Oh  !  Now  I  get  your  idea.  You  think  it's  pass 
ing  off  inferior  goods  for  superior — a  worse  man  for  a 


144  LEONOKA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

better.  That's  it.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  agree  with 
you.  Tom's  a  sterling  right  good  fellow.  Is  that 
it?" 

"  No/'  said  Moorhead. 

"Then  how  is  Miss  Willoughby  injured  ?" 

"  Perhaps,  then,  you'd  rather  marry  him  yourself  ?" 
said  Moorhead,  testily,  dodging  the  question. 

"I?  No,  Charley.  Perhaps,  if  I'd  only  a  casual 
acquaintance  with  you,  the  result  of  a  few  weeks  of 
mutual  isolation  in  a  romantic  spot,  I  would  rather 
marry  Tom.  But  you  forget.  I  loved  you  long  ago, 
and  have,  to  my  sorrow,  ever  since.  It's  no  passing 
fancy  with  me — no  romantic  impression.  I  know 
your  faults,  and  I  love  you  in  spite  of  them.  You 
are  everything  to  me — as  I  am  to  you." 

Moorhead  was  silent  awhile.  He  was  quite  deeply 
touched  by  her  devotion,  and  all  she  had  said  seemed 
plausible  enough. 

Certainly,  if  Leonora  should  care  for  Tom  enough 
to  marry  him,  it  would  be  Tom  she  married  and  Tom 
she  loved.  Every  one  would  be  benefited.  His  own 
conscience  would  be  free  of  Tom  and  Leonora ;  they 
would  be  happy,  and  Nelly  would  be  pleased.  Nelly 
would  be  Mrs.  Moorhead.  At  that  thought  he  looked 
up  with  a  smile  like  that  of  a  child  who  has  been  led 
into  obedience  by  the  promise  of  some  coveted  indul 
gence. 

"  Do  you  really  think  this  will  work,  Nell  ?" 

"If  you  do  as  I  tell  you  it  shall !  I  am  so  sure  of 
it  that,  to  prove  to  you  how  sure  I  am,  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  will  do.  If  you  will  promise  to  try  it  now, 
and  be  guided  by  me,  I  will  let  you  formally  an 
nounce  our  engagement — at  once  !" 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  145 

He  jumped  at  the  bait,  and  before  he  had  gone 
had  taken  her  orders  and  promised  to  obey  them  to 
the  letter. 

"  What  a  fool  a  man  is  — when  he's  in  love  !"  said 
she,  after  he  had  gone. 

"What  do  /care  whether  the  plan  succeeds  or 
not  ?  She  may  possibly  marry  Tom.  But  one  thing 
I  am  sure  of — to  go  out  there  and  make  love  to  her  is 
just  the  hare-brained  prank  that  will  appeal  to  Tom— 
and  I  can  remove  all  his  natural  scruples  on  the  point 
of  honor,  fraud,  and  so  forth.  I  see  my  way  clear,  and 
if  he  goes  out  there  and  offers  himself — as  he  shall — 
it  necessarily  puts  an  end  to  all  intercourse  between 
Charles  Moorhead  and  her  forever  and  a  day— which 
is  all  /  want.  Good  of  me  to  let  him  announce  the 
engagement.  If  the  worst  comes  to  worst  it's  a  bro 
ken  engagement,  and  one  more  or  less  does  no  harm. 
But  he'll  have  to  marry  me  now." 


XVII 

A  MAN  sat  in  a  musty  office  'way  up  in  the  top  of  a 
big  ramshackle  building. 

Three  chairs  of  doubtful  stability,  a  green  table,  a 
threadbare  lounge,  a  pair  of  shelves  with  a  few  second 
hand  law-books,  were  the  furniture  of  the  room. 

The  sound  of  many  quick  footsteps  coming  and  go 
ing  on  the  floor  below,  the  rush  of  elevators,  the  roar 
of  the  busy  street  outside,  added  to  the  lonesomeness 
of  the  place,  for  no  one  ever  came  to  this  room  ex 
cept  the  man  in  the  chair. 

He  had  sat  there  day  after  day,  year  in  and  year 
out — not  to  attend  to  his  business,  for  he  had  none ; 
not  in  the  hope  of  getting  any,  for  he  had  given  that 
up  long,  ago  ;  not  to  study  his  profession,  for  he  had 
studied  it  for  years  with  no  return,  and  knew  every 
thing  in  those  books  by  heart ;  but  merely  because  he 
had  nothing  else  to  do— unable  to  find  employment  or 
to  afford  pleasure — glad  of  a  refuge  where  he  could 
hide  his  shabby  raiment  and  thin  hopeless  face  from 
the  people. 

At  night  he  slept  there. 

The  office  was  his  home.  He  was  only  a  tenant  at 
sufferance,  long  in  debt  for  rent ;  but  the  owner  of 
the  building  would  not  press  him,  and  let  him  stay. 
He  could  not  have  let  that  office  if  he  had  turned 
the  tenant  out ;  those  about  it  were  empty,  and  he 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII  147 

knew  that  he  could  get  no  more  out  of  him  in  one 
way  than  another,  "so,"  said  he,  "why  disturb  him  ?" 

This  delinquent  lived  by  his  pen,  or  rather  kept 
death  off  at  the  pen's  point.  It  was  hardly  living. 

He  went  out  sometimes  at  night,  and  prowled  in 
the  streets  watching  the  people,  and  once  in  a  while 
a  face  or  an  incident  would  impress  itself  on  his 
mind.  Then  he  would  go  and  brood  over  it  in  his 
solitude  and  write  a  morbid  story  about  it. 

Now  and  then  he  could  sell  one  of  these  stories. 
Then  he  would  get  a  loaf  of  bread,  a  little  dried  beef, 
and  a  bottle.  A  five-cent  loaf  lasted  him  nearly  two 
days.  In  fact,  he  was  slowly  starving. 

He  had  not  sold  any  stories  for  a  long  time,  and  his 
money  was  all  gone.  He  had  been  two  days  without 
food.  He  could  think  of  nothing  new  to  write — his 
mind  was  in  that  state  when  it  preys  upon  itself  and 
finds  no  nourishment,  so  he  sat  and  waited  for  the  end. 

A  quick,  sharp  tread  came  along  the  long  corridor 
from  the  stairs ;  a  letter  came  tumbling  through  the 
slit  in  the  door. 

He  got  up  slowly,  went  with  a  weak  step  to  pick 
it  up,  and  started  when  he  saw  the  address. 

"  Strange  !"  he  said.     "  Why  does  he  write  now  ?" 

He  opened  it  and  took  out  a  letter — and  a  check. 

The  letter  was  as  follows  : 

"  WELLWOOD,  MASS. 

"DEAR  TOM, — 

"You  wonder,  perhaps,  at  iny  writing  to  you  after  so  long  a 
neglect. 

"You  will  attribute  some  selfish  motive  to  me,  and  you  will 
be  right — the  motive  is  selfish  enough. 

"  The  ties  of  flesh  and  blood  are  strong,  and  do  not  let  one  go 


148  LEONORA  OP  THE   YAWMISH 

so  easity.    I  am  lonely,  and  own  that  I  have  a  hearty  longing  to 
see  my  own  brother. 

"I  have  treated  you  ill,  Tom,  and  I  wish  most  earnestly  to 
make  amends. 

"Come  and  see  me.  I  hope  you  will  not  take  it  amiss,  from 
your  brother,  that  I  enclose  a  clieck  for  your  expenses  — for  I 
must  see  you,  and  it  may  be  you  do  not  feel  that  a  visit  to  me 
would  be  worth  the  price  of  the  journey. 

"  Come,  and  let  us  be  brothers  as  we  were. 
"With  love, 

"  C.  NORMAN  MOORHEAD." 

Thomas  Moorhead  read  the  letter  and  tore  it  across. 
He  was  about  to  tear  the  check  also,  but  stopped  and 
thought  a  moment.  His  imagination  was  conjuring 
up  a  feast.  He  saw  himself  sitting  in  a  cozy  supper- 
room  at  a  little  table  spread  with  snow-white  cloth. 
Before  him  lay  a  plate  with  a  great  porter-house  steak, 
thick  and  juicy,  and  mushrooms  about  the  steak. 

The  savor  seemed  to  arise  to  his  nostrils.  A  pewter 
mug  of  stinging  musty  ale  stood  beside  the  platter. 

He  looked  at  the  check  again,  and  picked  up  and 
pieced  together  the  scraps  of  the  letter,  which  he  re 
read  with  a  look  that  softened  from  wrath  to  doubt, 
and  from  doubt  to  wistfulness. 

Then  he  put  on  a  seedy  hat  and  went  down  to  a 
lower  floor. 

There  he  stopped  and  looked  doubtfully  at  several 
office  doors. 

People  coming  and  going  glared  suspiciously  at  the 
shabby  raiment  and  sharp,  pale,  eager  face. 

After  some  delay  he  entered  an  office  and  waited 
there,  while  the  incumbent — a  fat,  pursy  real-estate 
man,  gorgeously  apparelled — described  the  glories  of 
certain  property  to  a  probable  buyer. 


LEONOKA   OP    THE   YAWMISH  149 

By-and-by  the  customer  departed.  The  agent  turned 
to  the  new-comer,  and  said,  genially  : 

"And  what  can  I  do  for  you, Mr.  -  -  ?  Land  for 
sale,  eh?  Money  scarce  at  present  —  sell  a  lot  —  get 
some  new  clothes  and  a  shave  and  a  square  meal,  eh  ? 
Ha,  ha !" 

"I  have  an  office  on  the  upper  floor,"  he  said. 
"Thomas  Moorhead  my  name  is,  you  may  remember. 
I  came  to  ask  if  you  would  cash  a  check  for  me." 

The  agent  gave  him  a  sudden,  quick,  sharp  look 
which  meant,  "You  don't  play  that  on  me,  young 
man !"  then  asked,  with  his  accustomed  jollity  and 
effusion  of  manner,  "  And  how  large  a  check  ?" 

"Fifty." 

"  My  dear  sir  !  So  sorry  to  disoblige — haven't  got 
it  with  me !  Just  enough  left  to  get  home  with — ,90 
sorry  !  Good  day  !"  and  bowed  him  out  forthwith. 

Tom  went  to  another  office. 

A  tall,  shrewd-looking,  iron-gray  man  greeted  him 
with  a  cold  stare.  He  had  hoped  that  the  junior 
partner,  a  pleasant,  easy-going,  kindly  fellow,  would 
have  been  there,  and  would  have  withdrawn,  but  a 
sharp  "  Well,  sir  ?"  stopped  him. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Torrey,"  said  he,  in  his  weak 
voice,  "but — ' 

"  Mr.  Torrey's  out.  His  business  and  mine  are 
one.  What  is  it  ?" 

"I  only  wanted  to  ask  him  to  cash  a  check." 

"H'm!  Be  identified  at  the  bank  it's  drawn  on 
and  cash  it  there." 

"It's  on  a  Boston  bank." 

"  Oh  !  Then  deposit  it  in  your  own  bank  and  draw 
against  it.  Good  clay  !" 


150  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

He  tried  another — a  bustling,  red-whiskered  indi 
vidual. 

"  Don't  cash  checks!  Busy!"  was  all  the  answer 
he  got. 

He  went  back  to  his  office,  and  lay  down  on  the 
threadbare  lounge. 

He  was  exhausted  and  discouraged,  and  had  been 
made  to  feel  like  a  beggar.  He  did  not  care  to  repeat 
his  experience  at  other  offices,  and  saw  little  prospect 
of  doing  better  that  afternoon. 

So  he  lay  all  night  sleepless  and  growing  weaker, 
with  his  check  in  his  pocket  and  no  means  of  buying 
food. 

Next  morning,  with  a  sip  or  two  from  the  dregs  in  the 
bottle  to  strengthen  him,  he  set  out  for  the  office  of  a 
paper  to  which  he  had  sold  a  story — a  slight  acquaint 
ance  with  an  assistant  editor  had  been  the  result. 

"  Hullo  !     Another  MS.  ?"  said  the  editor. 

"Yes." 

"Fiction,  I  suppose  ?" 

"No,  though  everybody  that's  seen  it  seems  to 
think  it's  fiction  of  the  most  improbable  kind." 

"  M-m-m — I  fear  we  shouldn't  be  able  to  use  it. 
What  we  want  is  fiction  in  the  garb  of  fact — not  fact 
that  looks  like  fiction.  Truth  is  seldom  very  market 
able  ;  highly  improbable  truth  is  for  the  scientific  and 
agricultural  periodicals  only — sometimes  also  for  the 
newspapers.  However,  leave  it,  and  we'll  have  it  read 
in  due  course  and  let  you  know.  Why,  what's  the 
matter  ?" 

The  visitor  had  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  during 
the  editor's  remarks  had  grown  visibly  paler.  It  was 
evident  that  he  was  extremely  weak. 


LEONORA  OP   THE   YAWMISII  151 

"Oh,  nothing  much/'  said  he  ;  "tired,  that's  all." 

He  took  his  check  out  of  his  pocket  and  held  it  out 
with  a  shaking  hand. 

The  editor  examined  it  and  smiled. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  this  is  a  contribution?' 
said  he. 

"The  price  is  stated/'  said  Tom. 

"  In  short,  you'd  like  this  cashed  ?" 

"I — I  wouldn't  have  bothered  you/'  said  the  con 
tributor,,  "but  the  fact  is,  I  know  nobody  in  this 
city,  long  as  I've  been  here,  whom  I  can  ask.  I've 
sat  in  my  office  and  made  no  acquaintances.  I  knew 
one  or  two,  but  they  have  fallen  off.  Now,  for  two 
days  and  more  I've  been  without  food,  and  this  has 
just  been  sent  me  by  a  relation.  Last  night  I  tried 
to  get  it  cashed  and  failed ;  I've  been  all  night  with 
this  upon  me,  unable  to  get  a  bite.  Now  if  you'll 
oblige  me,  I'll  gladly  wait  while  you  wire  to  that 
bank,  if  you  wish,  to  see  that  it's  all  right." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  editor,  "I  won't  keep 
you  so  long.  Just  endorse  it,  and  sit  there  a  minute." 

He  ran  down  to  the  cashier's  office.  "  Cash  this, 
please,"  said  he. 

"  All  right,  I  suppose  ?"  said  the  cashier. 

"I'll  endorse  it  myself,  if  you  prefer,"  said  the  ed 
itor,  and  did  so. 

"  There,"  he  said,  a  minute  later,  putting  the 
proceeds  in  his  visitor's  hand,  "your  contribution  is 
accepted,  and  there's  the  remuneration.  And  remem 
ber,  in  future,  that  when  you  find  any  difficulty  in  dis 
posing  of  that  sort  of  article  it  always  takes  here,  and 
brings  more  a  line  than  any  other  kind.  Bring  'em  to 
me  for  personal  inspection.  Don't  mention  it.  I've 


152  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII 

been  in  the  same  fix  myself  many  a  time,  in  the  old 
days.  I  know  what  it  is,  and  all  about  it." 

The  assistant  editor's  mind  was  running  on  the 
time  when  he  too  had  been  shabby  and  friendless,  and, 
as  he  said,  he  knew. 

"Now  look  here/' said  he,  "it's  time  for  lunch. 
I'm  going  with  you,  if  you  don't  mind.  I  nearly 
killed  myself  eating  too  fast  once,  when  I  was  in  the 
same  cheerful  predicament,  and  I'm  to  look  after  you. 
We  lunch  together — Dutch  treat.  These  little  ex 
periences  hurt ;  but  they're  our  stock-in-trade  after 
wards,  you  know.  Write  it  up  and  make  a  yarn  of  it, 
eh  ?  and  sell  it." 

The  feeling  of  money  in  a  long-empty  pocket  is  a 
wondrous  restorative.  It  is  sad  to  realize  how  much 
one's  strength  may  depend  on  the  mere  presence  of 
that  talisman  which  opens  the  hearts  and  storehouses 
of  men  to  the  possessor — and  how  little  in  compari 
son  is  the  effect  of  intrinsic  worth  on  one's  self 
and  others.  One  would  think  that  conscience  it 
self  spoke  to  a  man  according  to  his  means,  and 
upbraided  him  sorely  with  the  shame  of  an  empty 
pocket.  But  that  is  probably  because  too  many  of 
us  insist  on  carrying  what  we  call  our  consciences 
in  our  pockets. 

At  all  events,  Thomas,  who  a  few  minutes  before 
had  been  almost  ashamed  to  speak  to  his  fellow-beings 
and  had  carried  himself  after  a  guilty  fashion,  now 
freshened  in  his  aspect  like  a  plant  in  a  shower  after  a 
long  drought. 

He  squared  his  shoulders  and  held  up  his  head — 
his  eye  brightened,  and  he  looked  the  world  in  the 
face  with  an  aspect  of  cheerful  self-respect  that  made 


LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISH  Io3 

even  his  shabby  garments  seem  things  of  his  own 
choice  dignified  by  his  upright  presence. 

He  accepted  the  assistant  editor's  offer  with  grate 
ful  courtesy.  They  went  to  a  neighboring  quiet  lunch 
room. 

Tom  looked  ravenously  at  the  bill  of  fare. 

"Roast  turkey — "  he  began. 

"  Pardon  me/'  said  his  companion,  "  we  begin  with 
soup,  and  not  too  rich  at  that/7  and  ordered  con 
somme. 

"You  mustn't  rush  headlong  at  substantial  fare/' 
said  he.  "  Just  leave  the  ordering  to  me,  will  you  ?" 

After  the  soup  came  raw  oysters — then  eggs,  soft- 
boiled. 

"There/'  said  the  editor,  "that's  all  you  can  have 
for  the  present ;  in  an  hour  beef  and  beer.  Now  I 
must  leave  you.  Good  luck  to  you.  Write  it  up,  eh  ? 
Send  you  another  check — and  cash  it  for  you,  too,  if 
need  be.  Good-bye." 

"Now  for  some  trousers  and  a  shave,"  said  the 
nouveau  riche,  prodigally.  "The  coat  may  remain  in 
statu  quo  —  not  because  it  can,  but  because  it  must. 
These  shoes  will  last,  with  new  lacings,  till  I  get 
there.  Well,  it  '11  be  good  to  be  at  home  again.  I 
wonder  what  Charley  is  up  to,  anyway  ?  Somehow  I 
can't  but  think  he  really  means  it." 

He  went  back  to  his  office,  stopping  on  the  way  to 
buy  the  necessary  articles.  Once  he  stopped  doubt 
fully  before  a  bootblack's  stand ;  but,  ashamed  to  sub 
mit  such  a  disreputable  chaussure  to  the  critical  eyes 
of  the  Professor  of  Calcear  Polition,  bought  some 
blacking  instead  and  performed  the  function  for  him 
self  in  privacy,  having  due  regard  to  rips  and  worn 


154  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISI1 

places,  and  inserting  a  piece  of  law-calf  (taken  from 
the  one  remaining  cover  of  Byles  on  Bills)  in  the  sole 
of  the  right  shoe,  through  which  the  ball  of  his  foot 
had  gradually  made  its  way  to  Mother  Earth. 

He  locked  his  office  door,  put  upon  the  outside  the 
businesslike  legend — 

"Out  of  town — will  return  hereafter," 

and  at  three  o'clock,  with  a  large  valise  of  withered 
and  empty  aspect,  boarded  a  train,  whereby  he  arrived 
that  evening  at  the  village  of  Wellwood. 


XVIII 

WELLWOOD  was  a  pleasant  little  New  England  vil 
lage,  with  its  elm  -  arched  street,  its  bit  of  common 
where  the  hoys  played  hall,  its  trim  little  white  houses 
with  green  blinds,  its  railroad  station,  smithy,  post- 
office,  and  general  store,  its  rival  meeting-houses,  and 
great  area  of  outlying  farms. 

Some  miles  out  of  it  the  Moorheads  had  long  had 
broad  lands  and  a  great  house,  that  had  been  their 
summer  home  from  generation  to  generation. 

"Well,  Tom,  at  last !"  cried  some  one,  cordially,  as 
the  new-comer  stepped  off  the  train,  and  a  well-gloved 
hand  rested  on  his  shoulder  with  possessive  good-fel 
lowship. 

"  Hullo,  Charley  !  I  came,  you  see." 
"  It's  good  of  you,  Tom.  I've  missed  you  lately — 
but  we'll  talk  of  that  at  home.  Good  heavens,  old 
man,  how  you've  changed  !"  Charles  cried,  with  a  look 
of  dismay  which  Tom  observed  and  set  down  to  his 
credit.  "That's  genuine,  apparently,"  he  thought. 
"Seems  really  troubled  at  my  looks.  Perhaps  he 
means  what  he  says,  and  did  actually  want  to  see  me 
again. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  when  they  were  side  by  side  in  the 
carriage  that  was  to  take  them  home;  "as  you  say, 
I've  changed.  The  practice  of  law  ages  a  fellow — 
takes  away  the  blush  of  youth.  Anxiety  for  the  wel- 


156  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

fare  of  countless  clients  has  doubtless  sharpened  my 
features  ;  the  constant  atmosphere  of  courts  of  justice 
and  the  conduct  of  important  trials  have  imparted  so 
lemnity  to  my  visage  ;  the  responsibility  of  managing 
large  and  weighty  trusts — these  things,  Charley,  crush 
out  youth  and  make  a  man  elderly  before  his  time." 

"  Where's  your  baggage  ?"  said  Charles. 

"  Here,"  said  Tom,  holding  up  the  starved  hand 
bag.  "  Should  have  brought  more,  but  hadn't  it." 

Charles  looked  at  the  lean  and  hungry  bag,  then  at 
the  polished  coat,  frayed  of  braid  and  button. 

"  I  fear,"  said  he,  looking  a  little  pleased,  Tom 
thought,  "practice  is  less  profitable  than  laborious. 
What  is  your  specialty,  old  man  ?" 

"  Don't  know  yet,"  said  Tom.  "  General  practice, 
so  far.  Still  waiting  for  client.  When  a  client  turns 
up  I  shall  find  out." 

"Ah,  well,  you  were  never  cut  out  for  a  lawyer, 
Tom.  We'll  try  and  find  something  for  you  to  do. 
Dear  old  boy,  it's  good  to  see  you  again  !" 

They  rolled  along  behind  a  handsome  pair  of  grays 
over  a  road  that  wound  in  and  out  between  low  hills 
and  sunny  pastures ;  through  pleasant,  feathery  woods, 
and  over  brooks  fringed  with  willows  ;  past  bright, 
level  meadows  and  neat  farm-houses  that  stood  white 
among  their  elms  and  maples — homely  scenes  full  of 
present  sweetness  and  old  memories  for  both  the 
brothers. 

Here  were  pools  they  had  fished  or  swum  in,  or 
chards  they  had  robbed,  woods  where  they  had  shot, 
windows  they  had  broken ;  even  old  Joel  Bently, 
whom  once,  as  Indians,  they  had  pelted  with  the  eggs 
of  his  own  setting-hen  from  the  bushes  by  the  road, 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  157 

and  who  now  glowered  at  them  from  his  barn  door 
as  they  passed,  for  he  had  never  forgotten  the  loss 
of  his  eggs  and  personal  dignity. 

Tom,  whose  spirits  were  rising  fast,  recalled  the  in 
cident.  "How  was  it  that  I  got  the  thrashing  for 
that  and  you  escaped  ?"  said  he,  trying  to  remember. 
"You  planned  the  whole  thing,  you  know,  Charley, 
and  got  me  into  it." 

"  You  were  rash,  Tom.  You  were  always  that,  you 
know.  I  had  my  alibi  prepared  beforehand." 

"You  generally  did,"  said  Tom.  "Look  there! 
I  believe  that's  the  same  old  turkey  we  slew  and 
cooked  in  the  woods  and  ate  !" 

"That  was  twelve  years  ago." 

"  Never  mind ;  account  for  it  as  you  will,  it's  the 
same  good  old  turkey  to  me,  and  I  ought  to  remember, 
for  I  was  the  poor  wretch  that  got  caught  and  identi 
fied  with  the  crime,  as  usual.  My  memory  is  keen." 

So  was  that  of  Charles.  He  thought,  not  without 
a  certain  self- complaisance,  how  he  had  put  that 
turkey's  feathers  011  Tom's  clothes  and  adroitly  drawn 
paternal  attention  to  their  presence,  knowing  that 
Tom  would  say  nothing  of  his  share  in  the  matter, 
and  that  justice,  satisfied  with  a  victim,  would  look 
no  further,  and  would  leave  himself  in  peace  and 
safety.  But  he  only  said  : 

"You  were  careless,  Tom.  The  feathers  gave  you 
away." 

"'Yes,  the  bird  is  revealed  by  his  feathers,  the 
carpenter  by  his  chips,  the  man  by  the  company  he 
keeps." 

"  Meaning  me  ?" 

"Not  at  all.     The  turkey." 


158  LEONOHA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

So  they  went  on,  indulging  in  reminiscences,  from 
some  of  which  the  coachman,  if  he  had  heard,  and 
had  been  addicted  to  the  summing  up  of  evidence, 
might  have  gathered  that  Tom  had  been  a  merry, 
mischievous,  harum-scarum  youth,  always  in  trouble, 
and  Charles  singularly  successful  in  escaping  his  de 
serts  at  Tom's  expense.  Yet  it  was  Tom  who  dwelt 
most  fondly  on  the  recollections. 

Some  six  miles  from  the  village  they  turned  be 
tween  two  massive  gate-posts  of  granite  up  an  avenue 
arched  with  old  elms,  between  broad  lawns,  set  off 
with  well-grown  trees  and  shrubs,  to  the  porte-cochere 
of  a  yellow  colonial  house,  whose  overhanging  front 
was  supported  on  eight  tall  pillars. 

A  man  in  livery  opened  the  door  to  them,  and  Tom 
stood  in  his  boyhood's  home  for  the  first  time  in  five 
years. 

When  he  had  removed  the  dust  of  travel  and  had 
put  on  some  of  his  brother's  clothes,  which  hung 
rather  loosely  on  his  emaciated  frame,  the  two  sat 
down  to  a  delicious  dinner. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  years  that  Tom  had  really 
dined.  He  had  eaten  when  he  could,  but  dining  and 
mere  eating  are  as  widely  different  as  verse  and  po 
etry.  He  did  ample  justice  to  the  meal,  and  his 
brother  watched  him  with  pleasure. 

"  We're  quite  alone,  as  you  see,"  said  Charles,  as 
they  lit  their  cigars  after  dinner. 

"Naturally,"  said  Tom.  "Who  would  think  of 
showing  off  his  disreputable  brother  ?  Not  you, 
Charley." 

"Now,  it's  not  that,  as  you  know,  Tom,"  said 
Charles,  with  a  proper  touch  of  indignation  in  his 


LEONORA   OF    THE   YAWMISH  159 

voice.  "I  have  some  people  coming  soon.  But  I 
thought  I'd  like  to  have  you  to  myself  a  few  days 
first.  It's  been  a  long  time,  and  Fve  been  much  to 
blame  for  not  looking  you  up  before.  But  Fve  been 
drifting  here  and  there,  and  somehow  Fve  always  im 
agined  you  prosperous  and  busy  at  the  law.  By-the- 
way,  it's  lucky  those  clothes  are  a  bit  loose  for  you 
now.  They'll  be  tight  before  we  can  get  new  ones 
made  if  that  appetite  of  yours  holds." 

"  Yes/'  said  Tom,  cheerfully,  "  the  law  gives  a 
fellow  an  appetite  if  nothing  else." 

"  Tell  me  more  about  the  law,  old  chap." 

"Really,"  said  Tom,  "I  haven't  seen  much  of  it. 
I've  hunted  it,  and  fished  for  it,  and  lain  in  wait  for 
it ;  but,  up  to  date,  it  don't  bite.  I  never  wanted  to 
go  in  for  it,  you  know." 

"  Then  why  did  you  do  it  ?" 

"  To  please  the  shade  of  our  uncle.  It  was  always 
a  dream  of  Uncle  Tom's,  you  know,  that  I  should 
follow  in  his  footsteps.  He  left  me  his  library  on 
condition  that  I  would.  Then  father  got  the  idea, 
by  collateral  descent,  from  Uncle  Tom.  He  thought 
the  library  a  grand  start  in  life.  He  said  it  was  too 
good  to  be  lost ;  that  there  had  always  been  a  lawyer 
in  the  family ;  that  it  was  a  pity  it  had  been  left  to 
me, 'because  you  would  have  made  a  better  one,  ex 
cept,  that  you  were  perhaps  a  shade  too  scrupulous; 
but  that  I  must  learn  to  live  up  to  it,  otherwise  it 
would  lapse  into  Uncle  Tom's  estate. 

"  I  said,  '  Let  it  lapse  !'  Then  mother,  almost 
ready  to  cry,  said  it  was  a  shame  to  speak  so  and 
thwart  Uncle  Tom's  dearest  wishes,  when  he  had  al 
ways  had  his  heart  set  on  my  being  a  lawyer  because 


160  LEONORA   OP   THE  YAWMISU 

I  bore  his  name,  and  that  if  Uncle  Tom  knew  of  it 
it  would  cause  him  the  deepest  grief. 

"  I  had  my  theological  and  psychical  doubts  as  to 
whether  Uncle  Tom  would  care,  but  it  was  plain  that 
mother  really  did  care  ;  so  I  held  my  peace  and  sub 
mitted,  and  passed  the  rest  of  my  existence  burdened 
with  that  library  and  trying  to  live  up  to  it." 

' '  You  haven't  been  practising  all  these  years  ?" 

' ( No,  no — not  quite.  I  had  a  little  money  to  begin 
with,  and  wandered  about  in  the  West — seeking  prac 
tice,  of  course.  I  didn't  find  it.  If  there's  a  place 
more  overrun,  swarming,  and  infested  with  legal  lu 
minaries  than  the  East  it  is  the  West.  Office -rent 
is  higher  there,  too.  I  couldn't  get  a  place  to  store 
the  library  in.  I  was  paying  storage  on  it  in  the  East, 
and  didn't  care  to  add  the  expense  of  shipping  it  till 
I  should  find  some  use  for  it. 

"  Meanwhile  the  funds  steadily  ran  out.  One  morn 
ing  a  big  bill  came  for  storage,  with  a  notice  that  if 
the  bill  was  not  paid  within  a  certain  time  the  books 
would  be  sold. 

"  I  overhauled  the  exchequer,  and  found  I'd  enough 
to  pay  it  and  a  few  dollars  over. 

"  Out  of  regard  to  family  feeling,  and  the  shade  of 
Uncle  Tom,  and  a  sense  that  if  it  must  be  sold  Fd 
better  sell  it  myself,  I  paid,  and  then  went  with  a 
light  heart  to  look  for  a  job,  meaning  to  earn  enough 
to  go  East  on. 

"  I'd  always  had  a  theory  that  an  able-bodied  fel 
low  who  was  willing  to  do  any  kind  of  work,  no  mat 
ter  what,  could  always  make  his  living  somehow.  I 
found  my  mistake  and  nothing  else— living  mean 
while  on  dry  bread. 


LEONORA  OF  THE   YAWMISII  161 

"  '  Had  any  experience  ?'  was  the  invariable  answer 
to  my  request  for  employment,  and  my  undeviating 
reply  was  '  No  !'  Whereupon  I  wasn't  wanted. 

"One  man  said  he'd  try  me  if  I  had  good  refer 
ences.  I  hadn't.  But  at  last  I  got  a  job  as  a  roust 
about  on  a  Columbia  Eiver  boat.  Then  I  earned 
enough  to  come  part  way  East  with,  thrashed  the 
captain  of  the  boat  for  value  received,  and  started. 

"  Got  as  far  as  Wyoming.  There  I  struck  a  sheep- 
ranch,  where  I  stopped  overnight.  It  was  run  by 
three  brothers — strapping  big  collegemen  with  ath 
letic  records,  and  about  as  much  knowledge  of  sheep- 
raising  or  any  other  practical  thing  as  I  had  of  preach 
ing. 

"  They  wanted  a  fourth  man  to  play  whist  with 
winter  nights  and  make  up  a  set  of  tennis  in  summer, 
and,  incidentally,  a  herder  ;  so  they  employed  me. 

' s  The  life  was  not  so  bad,  but  the  ranch  broke,  for 
they  lost  sheep  right  and  left,  not  knowing  how  to 
take  care  of  'em. 

' '  So  they  decided  to  go  home,  and  paid  me  off,  and 
I  came  East.  I'd  saved  quite  a  bit — wages  are  high 
out  there,  especially  when  one  plays  good  cards  and 
tennis  with  his  employers. 

"  With  what  was  left  I  hired  an  office,  painted  a 
shingle,  and  sat  down  to  practise. 

"  Couldn't  afford  much  of  an  office. 

"  Mine  was  high  up-stairs  ;  nobody  ever  came  there 
except  to  collect  rent,  which  they  didn't,  as  a  rule, 
get. 

"  Lived  on  proceeds  of  the  library,  which  I  sold,  a 
few  volumes  at  a  time.  Second-hand  books  don't 

bring  much,  and  soon  the  library  and  proceeds  were 
11 


162  LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISH 

gone.  Wrote  a  story  or  two,  but  didn't  make  much  at 
that.  Can't  lie  freely ;  my  mendacity  was  crippled 
in  early  youth.  Made  enough  to  buy  dry  bread,  so  I 
lived  on  that  with  intervals  of  nothing.  There  you 
have  it  all  up  to  date." 

"Poor  old  fellow,"  said  Charles,  affectionately. 
"  You  have  had  a  time  of  it.  Why  didn't  you  write  to 
me?" 

"Why,  you  seemed  to  wish  to  be  regarded  as  a 
stranger,  Charley.  Your  offer  of  an  allowance  the 
day  we  parted — well,  I  suppose  now  that  you  meant  it 
all  right,  but  your  manner  was  —  unbearable  !  You 
see,  I  was  nettled  at  being  so  left  out  in  the  cold ; 
and  at  the  same  time  I  was  awfully  cut  up  about  our 
mutual  loss,  and  at  our  father's  having  been  unwill 
ing  to  see  me  at  the  last ;  and  in  my  state  of  mind  it 
seemed  to  me  that  you  were  so  elated  at  the  will  that 
you  hadn't  a  feeling  to  spare  for  him  or  for  me.  And 
when  you  came  out  with  your  offer,  that  seemed  to 
rub  it  in  somehow." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  he  doesn't  suspect  me  of  having 
worked  against  him!"  thought  Charles.  "Well,"  he 
said,  in  a  forgiving  and  conciliatory  tone,  "  no  more  of 
that  now.  We'll  just  devote  ourselves  to  having  a 
good  time  and  getting  into  condition,  eh  ?  And 
please  remember  that  I'm  your  brother,  and  that  all  I 
have  is  yours — at  all  events,  until  you  are  on  a  good, 
solid  financial  basis  of  your  own." 

Every  day  Tom's  natural  affection  for  Charles,  great 
originally,  became  strengthened  by  constant  kindness 
and  the  interchange  of  pleasant  sentiments,  and  the 
result  was  that  he  was  ready  to  do  almost  anything 
for  Charley. 


XIX 


TIME  went  on,  and  Tom  was  still  with  his  brother, 
enjoying  himself  immensely.  The  hollows  in  his 
cheeks  were  no  more.  He  was  clad  in  the  best.  He 
rode,  fished,  sang,  boated,  and  helped  his  brother  in 
the  ordering  of  improvements  and  the  management 
of  the  estate.  He  would  have  been  entirely  happy  but 
for  two  things.  First,  he  did  not  quite  like  visiting 
as  a  profession,  and  he  had  no  other  means  of  sup 
port.  He  occasionally  told  Charles  that  he  thought 
it  time  to  look  about  for  work — that  he  felt  himself  a 
burden. 

This  was  just  what  Charles  wanted.  It  was  the 
effect  Mrs.  Merivale  had  desired  him  to  produce. 
But  he  would  not  hear  of  it  from  Tom. 

"Who  feels  the  burden/'  said  Charles,  Socratical- 
ly — "  the  man  who  bears  it  or  another  ?" 

"The  man  who  bears  it,  to  be  sure,"  said  Tom. 

"  Good.  Now  you  say  you  feel  yourself  a  burden. 
Therefore  you  bear  the  burden,  and  are  a  burden  to 
yourself,  for  no  one  else  feels  the  weight  you  talk 
about.  Don't  complain  of  your  own  burden.  There's 
logic  for  you.  I  could  go  on,  and  prove  to  you  in 
like  manner — 

"  Spare  me  !"  said  Tom. 

"  That's  just  what  I  can't  do,"  said  Charles,  laying 
his  hand  on  Tom's  shoulder  and  smiling.  "  I  can't 


164  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

spare  you  yet.  You  are  all  I  have,  you  know,  and, 
seriously,  if  you  insist  on  regarding  yourself  not  as  a 
brother  but  as  a  matter  of  business,  I  can't  get  on 
without  you  at  present.  I  should  have  to  pay  a  law 
yer — I  beg  pardon,  any  other  lawyer — untold  sums  to 
do  what  you  are  doing  for  me  in  the  way  of  deeds, 
leases,  advice,  and  so  forth.  But  we  won't  put  it  on 
that  ground,  boy.  Can't  I  have  the  pleasure  of  my 
own  brother's  companionship  awhile  without  his  talk 
ing  nonsense  about  '  burdens '  ?  In  a  time  of  trou 
ble,  too  !"  And  Charles  sighed,  plaintively. 

This  was  the  other  matter  that  had  marred  Tom's 
pleasure.  It  was  clear  to  him  that  Charles  had  some 
thing  on  his  mind  that  distressed  him.  He  was  often 
abstracted,  moody,  and  silent — rallying  with  an  effort, 
it  seemed  when  spoken  to,  and  wearing  a  becoming 
but  unaccountable  melancholy. 

Tom  was  thoroughly  affectionate,  and  very  grateful 
to  his  brother.  He  had  quite  got  over  the  idea  that 
Charles  wanted  to  get  something  out  of  him  in  re 
turn  for  this  sudden  kindness;  indeed,  what  was 
there  to  get  ?  "  A  time  of  trouble,  old  man  ?"  said  he. 

"  Yes,"  said  Charles  ;  "I'm  not  over-happy,  to  tell 
the  truth." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Tom.  "Now,  my  dear  boy, 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

"No,  no  ;  I  won't  bother  you  with  it,  Tommy.  It's 
nothing  much.  None  of  our  earthly  troubles  are, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  them.  After  all,  why 
should  a  man  have  happiness,  if  there  be  such  a 
thing  ?  What  good  would  it  do  ?" 

"The  deuce!  it  is  something  serious,"  Tom 
thought.  "Look  here,  Charley,"  he  said,  "don't 


LEONORA  OF  THE   YAWMISH  165 

talk  any  more  of  that.  You  call  it '  philosophy/  I  call 
it  '  rot.'  Let's  have  facts  and  not  absurd  generalities. 
Come,  tell  me  ;  and  let  me  help  you,  if  I  can." 

"Help  me!  I'd  tell  you  in  a  moment  if  you 
could  by  any  human  possibility.  But  you  can't,  and 
so  I  won't  bore  you  with  a  lot  of  uninteresting  details. 
Come,  let's  run  out  and  get  some  air." 

They  went  out  and  walked  together  up  a  winding 
rocky  road  on  to  the  hills,  lazily,  in  the  heat  of  a 
sunny  summer  afternoon. 

A  farm-house  stood  alone  on  a  high  barren  place, 
in  accordance  with  the  plan  steadfastly  adhered  unto 
by  the  early  New-Englander  of  building  in  as  inacces 
sible  a  solitude  as  he  could  find,  and  then  approach 
ing  it  by  a  devious  road,  going  every  now  and  then 
over  the  crest  of  a  hill  to  take  his  bearings. 

They  stopped  here,  attracted  by  a  well  with  mossy 
stone  curb  and  old-fashioned  sweep  and  bucket,  and 
were  greeted  by  a  stout  old  dame,  who  sat  before  her 
door  knitting. 

"Well,  if  'tain't  the  two  young  fellers  from  the 
big  house  down  below  !  What's  brought  ye  away  up 
here — afoot,  too!  —  such  a  hot  day?  Ye  must  be 
pretty  spry,  both  on  ye  ;  but  I  guess  the  hill  took  it 
out'n  ye  some  \" 

"  It  did,"  said  Tom.  And  he  emptied  the  tin 
dipper  that  stood  on  the  curb. 

"Land  !"  said  the  old  woman,  "to  think  o'  seein' 
you  two  ag'in  !  How  you've  growed  !" 

"  Garrulous  old  toad  !"  said  Charles,  muttering  im 
patiently. 

"  An  inconsistent  metaphor,  dear  boy,"  said  Tom. 
"The  toad  is  seldom,  if  ever,  garrulous." 


166  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

"  Then  why  can't  she  keep  still  like  the  others,  and 
let  us  alone  ?" 

"You're  touchy  this  morning/'  said  Tom,  and 
turned  courteously  to  the  old  woman.  "  Yes/'  he 
said,  "  we  have  grown,  but  that  is  not  our  fault.  We 
would  have  continued  gladly  in  the  form  and  garb  of 
boyhood,  but  time  has  not  permitted  us." 

"Wai,"  said  the  old  woman,  beaming  at  him  for 
his  kindly  manner,  "I  don't  know  what  you're 
a-talkin'  about  with  all  them  words,  but  you've  told 
me  one  thing  pretty  plain — I  was  jest  a-goin'  to  ask 
ye  which  one  of  ye  was  which ;  I  couldn't  hardly  tell 
ye  apart  first  off,  but  now  I  know.  You're  th'  one 
they  useter  call  Tom  :  always  real  pleasant  an'  affable 
an'  social  an'  a-pokin  fun  ;  an'  the  solemn,  sour  feller, 
he's  Charley.  Ain't  ye,  now  ?" 

This  incident  and  speech  seemed  to  have  an  unac 
countably  cheering  effect  on  Charles.  Instead  of 
sneering  at  what  he  would  have  generally  called  "the 
impudence  of  the  creature,"  he  looked  hard  at  his 
brother,  and  answered,  pleasantly,  "  Yes,  we're  a  great 
deal  alike,  aren't  we  ?"  standing  beside  Tom  for  com 
parison. 

"Wai,  yer  faces  ain't  so  very  like, but  I'd  know  ye 
apart  when  I  see  ye  together,"  said  she,  critically. 
"His'n" — pointing  a  fat  finger  at  Tom — "hez  more 
life  in  it  than  your'n,  an'  don't  look  so  kinder  dolly, 
but  yer  motions  an'  height  an'  build  are  pretty  near 
the  same ;  an'  I  guess  if  I  see  either  one  o'  ye  alone 
I  wouldn't  hardly  know  which  one  it  was — not  till  I 
got  to  know  ye  good." 

Charles  patted  his  brother  on  the  back.  "It's  a 
compliment  to  both  of  us,  madam,"  he  said,  cheerily. 


LEONORA   OF  THE  YAWMISII  167 

"  Wouldn't  ye  like  to  buy  some  fresh  eggs  ?"  said 
the  old  woman,  taking  advantage  of  the  mood  of  her 
public  to  find  a  market ;  and  Charles  bought  a  dozen 
then  and  there,  and  gave  them  to  Tom  to  carry  home. 

All  the  way  he  was  unusually  merry,  and  Tom,  de 
lighted  with  his  spirits,  did  his  best  to  keep  them  up. 
The  next  morning,  however,  Charles  was  moody  again 
and  so  remained.  Sometimes  Tom,  looking  up,  saw 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  him  with  a  queer,  calculating  ex 
pression,  and  when  they  met  his  glance  they  turned 
away. 


XX 


THOMAS  MOOKHEAD  came  down  one  morning  and 
found  his  brother  sitting  at  a  table  with  his  face  on 
his  arms.  He  did  not  move  as  Tom  came  in,  and  the 
latter  stood,,  doubtful  whether  to  speak  to  him  or  go 
away. 

When  Charles  finally  raised  his  head  his  face  was 
so  sad  and  rueful,  and  his  tone  as  he  said  "  Good- 
morning"  so  woe-begone,  that  Tom  did  not  answer 
at  all,  but  held  out  his  hand  in  sympathy.  Charles 
grasped  it,  pressed  it  warmly,  and  said — nothing. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  old  fellow  ?"  said  Tom. 

"  Oh,  nothing  more  than  usual." 

"Now,  my  boy,"  said  Tom,  almost  angrily,  "we've 
had  enough  of  this.  What's  the  matter  ?  You  must 
tell  me.  It's  something  very  serious  to  affect  you  as 
it  does,  and  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  so  moping  and 
blue.  Out  with  it !" 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  made  such  an  exhibition  of 
weakness/'  said  Charles,  "but  you  took  me  rather  by 
surprise.  It  is  not  so  very  serious,  perhaps — at  least, 
it  might  not  strike  a  stranger  so — but  it's  life  and 
death  to  me." 

"I'm  no  stranger,"  said  Tom;  "I'm  the  nearest 
friend  you  have,  and  what  is  serious  to  you  is  serious 
to  me." 


LEONORA  OP   THE  YAWMISH  169 

"  You'd  laugh  at  me  if  I  told  you/'  said  Charles, 
shaking  his  head  mournfully. 

"You  ought  to  know  me  better,  Charley." 

"All  right ;  if  you  will  have  it,  here  it  is.  I  didn't 
mean  to  bore  you  with  my  affairs.  I'm  engaged  to 
two  girls  at  once  !" 

"The  deuce  you  are!"  said  Tom.  "I  knew,  of 
course,  you  were  engaged  to  Nelly  —  Mrs.  Merivale, 
nee  Trask  —  and  thought  that  was  enough.  But  I 
didn't  know  there  was  another.  My  poor  boy  !  Wom 
en  are  the  very  Old  Nick  incarnate!  /know  that!" 
Tom's  knowledge  of  women  was  culled  chiefly  from 
his  dealings  with  one  or  two  landladies  and  washer 
women  to  whom  he  owed  money,  and,  like  most  men 
of  such  experience,  he  had  very  pronounced  views  on 
the  subject.  " They  are  the  very  Old  Nick!  But  I 
never  thought  you'd  get  trapped.  Break  with  'em 
both  and  begin  over  !  You  can  stand  a  breach-of- 
promise  suit  or  two." 

"  Thanks  for  your  advice.  But  they  are  not  that 
kind,"  said  Charles,  with  a  slight  sneer.  "  Breach- 
of -promise  suits  are  not  in  their  line.  And  as  for 
breaking  with  them  both,  I  won't  break  with  Nelly, 
and  I  don't  see  how  to  break  with  the  other.  If  you 
knew  her  you  would  understand." 

"  How  did  you  ever  come  to  do  it  ?"  said  Tom,  sor 
rowfully. 

"It's  a  long,  dismal  story,"  said  his  brother.  "You 
know  Mrs.  Merivale  ?" 

"Yes  ;  used  to  know  her — Nelly  Trask  ;  she  mar 
ried  old  Merivale  for  his  money." 

"  "Well,  Tom,  before  she  did  that — she  was  forced 
into  it,  mind,  by  her  scheming  old  mother  and  her 


170  LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISH 

brute  of  a  father,  poor  thing  ! — she  was  practically  en 
gaged  to  me.  Suddenly  she  went  off  without  a  word 
to  me  about  it."  (Charles  had  never  known  that  Mr. 
Merivale  had  been  educating  Miss  Helen  while  he 
himself  was  making  love  to  her. ) 

"  Now  she  has  come  back  ten  times  lovelier  than 
before  —  sorrow  beautifies  some  faces  wonderfully  ; 
and  as  soon  as  I  saw  her  I  felt  as  fond  of  her  as  ever. 
I  knew  I  had  never  got  over  it. 

"  We  talked  over  old  times,  and  I  learned  how  she 
had  been  dragged  and  driven  to  the  altar. 

"  When  I  saw  her  I  was  engaged  already  to  another 
girl,  and  then  I  knew  that  my  other  engagement  was 
a  sheer  mistake.  Certainly  no  man  has  a  right  to 
marry  any  woman  when  any  other  woman  can  make 
him  feel  as  Nelly  Merivale  made  me. 

"  She  told  me  too,  Nelly  did,  in  the  sweet  inno 
cence  of  her  heart,  that  she  still  cared  for  me, 
though  of  course  while  Mr.  Merivale  lived  she  had 
done  her  best  to  get  over  it ;  that  she  knew  it  was 
wrong,  but  that  she  had  never  been  able  to  help  being 
fond  of  me  ;  that  in  her  wretchedness,  after  her  cruel 
marriage,  she  loved  me  in  spite  of  herself,  and  turned 
to  me  for  comfort. 

"  Of  course  I  could  only  meet  that  avowal  by  one 
of  my  own,  and  before  I  knew  it  I  was  engaged  again. 
I  wouldn't  undo  it  now,  for  I  feel  that  Nelly  and  I 
belong  to  each  other,  and  that  under  the  circumstances 
I  have  no  right  to  marry  any  one  but  her.  Have  I  ?" 

"Why,  no,  I  suppose  not ;  still,  it  would  seem  that 
the  other  girl  has  a  sort  of  lien;  but  then,  according  to 
your  account,  Nelly  Trask's  original  lien  would  seem 
to  take  precedence  of  hers,  unless,  indeed,  the  mar- 


LEONOKA   OP  THE   YAWMISH  171 

riage  to  Abner  Merivale  acted  as  a  waiver  of  her  claim 
on  you  ;  but  then,  on  the  other  hand,  a  waiver  must  be 
sua  sponte — of  one's  own  free  will — and  the  marriage 
was  not  sua  sponte,  but  under  a  sort  of  duress — coer 
cion,  so  to  speak,  by  her  father  and  mother.  Yes, 
I'm  inclined  to  think  that,  according  to  your  state 
ment  of  the  case,  dear  Nelly's  prior  claim  holds  good 
as  against  the  other's  subsequent  one.  But  how  are 
you  to  make  the  other  see  that  ?"  said  the  legal  broth 
er,  stroking  his  chin  and  raising  one  eyebrow. 

"  Ah,  there  it  is  !"  cried  Charles,  in  a  voice  of 
misery.  "  How  am  I  to  break  it  to  Leonora,  who  is  de 
voted  to  me  too,  and  has  waited — is  waiting — patient 
ly  for  me  till  our  marriage  becomes  possible.  What 
shall  I  do  ?  It's  disgraceful  !  pitiful  !  maddening  I" 

Charles  was  not  a  bad  actor,  and  indeed  he  had  but 
little  need  to  act.  It  was  disgraceful  and  all  the  rest, 
and  he  felt  it  keenly.  His  face  could  be  expressive 
enough  when  he  chose,  and  now  it  was  such  a  picture 
of  woe  that  the  tears  of  sympathy  almost  came  to  the 
younger  brother's  eyes — not  at  the  facts,  which  were 
commonplace  enough,  he  thought,  and  somewhat  ab 
surd,  but  at  the  anguish  of  the  man  who  related  them. 

"  Tell  me  about  the  other  girl/'  said  Tom. 

Charles  described  Leonora  almost  as  well  as  she  de 
served  to  be  described — as  well  as  he  could,  in  fact — 
and  enlarged  on  her  love  for  himself  till  Tom  began 
to  sympathize  strongly  with  the  lonely,  lovely  girl 
breaking  her  heart  in  the  wilderness  for  this  faithless 
brother  of  his. 

"  Charley,"  he  said,  "how  could  you  do  it  ?  I  see 
that  you  have  no  right  to  marry  her  if  you  really  love 
Nelly  Trask,  or  even  if  you  only  think  you  do.  But 


172  LEONORA   OF   THE  YAWMISII 

why — liow  could  you  do  it  ?  Are  you  sure  you're  fonder 
of  Nelly  ?" 

( '  My  dear  Tom,  how  could  I  know  ?  I  am  fonder 
of  Nelly,  yes,  but  I  didn't  know  it  then.  It  seemed 
all  right  at  the  time.  Nelly  had  seemed  irrecoverably 
lost  to  me,  and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  forget  her — 
had  forgotten  her.  It  wasn't  till  I  saw  her  again  that 
I  knew  what  a  mistake  I  had  made.  I  may  be  a 
brute,  but  I  can't  help  it  any  more  than  any  other 
brute.  It  was  all  wrong,  but  I  didn't  know  it ;  how 
could  I  ?" 

There  was  little  said  after  that.  Tom  was  aston 
ished.  He  had  had  no  idea  that  his  brother  was  a 
man  of  so  much  feeling,  and  was  deeply  touched  by 
his  sorrow  and  by  the  humility  with  which  he  owned 
himself  in  the  wrong — a  thing  he  had  never  known 
him  to  do  before. 

That  night  Charles  wrote  to  Mrs.  Merivale  : 

"DEAR  NELLY, — 

"I  am  carrying  out  your  instructions  most  successfully,  and 
I  think  you'll  acknowledge  ably.  The  results  are,  so  far,  all 
that  could  be  wished. 

"Tom  is  living  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  and  blesses  me  as  a 
most  affectionate  brother.  I  think  he'd  almost  cut  his  hand  off 
to  do  me  a  service,  he  is  so  grateful. 

"He  was  really  in  a  most  wretched  condition,  starving — in 
fact,  a  disgrace  to  the  family— and  my  letter,  it  seems,  with  its 
timely  enclosure,  just  saved  him. 

"So  besides  being  naturally  fond  of  his  dear  brother,  he  al 
most  worships  me  as  the  being  who  Las  brought  him  from 
misery  into  luxury  and  pleasure. 

"He  is  like  me.  A  woman  in  the  neighborhood,  the  other 
day,  could  hardly  tell  which  of  us  was  which. 

"  I  have — reluctantly,  of  course— told  him  my  sad  story,  and 
while  he  does  his  best  to  console  his  poor  erring  brother,  and 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH  173 

would,  I  think,  do  anything  to  help  me  out  of  my  scrape,  it  is 
plain  that  he  has  deep  sympathy  for  Miss  Willoughby.  I  have 
taken  pains,  as  you  suggested,  to  enhance  this  sympathy  with 
harrowing  descriptions  of  her  forlorn  plight  and  glowing  ac 
counts  of  her  beauty,  and  I'm  not  exaggerating  when  I  tell  you 
that  he's  actually  falling  in  love  with  her  On  hearsay. 

"I  will  propose  the  scheme  to  him  at  once  unless  you  have 
something  further  to  suggest.  I  only  wait  your  reply— eagerly, 
as  I  do  every  word  from  you. 

"  Strange  as  it  seems,  I  think  he  will  go  in  for  it. 

"Now,  does  not  your  servant  deserve  some  reward?  May  I 
not  come  down  and  see  you  soon  ? 

"Ever  devotedly  yours, 

"  C.  NORMAN  MOORHEAD." 

Mrs.  Merivale  laughed  when  she  read  the  letter,  and 
repeated  her  favorite  aphorism:  "What  fools  men 
are !  Both  of  them  twisted  round  a  woman's  little 
finger,  and  one  of  them  congratulating  himself  on  the 
fact  as  evidence  of  his  sagacity  and  acuteness.  A  rare 
diplomat,  this  Charley  of  mine  !  Yes,  mine  he  is,  ab 
solutely  ;  and  he'll  make  a  good  husband.  '  Come  up 
and  see  me  ?'  I  think  not,  my  friend.  I  shall  see 
enough  of  you  by-and-by.  You  are  about  the  most 
agreeable  man  I  know,  to  be  sure  ;  but  as  sure  as  I 
let  you  come  you'll  wax  sentimental.  Also,  you're  in 
your  most  self-congratulatory  frame  of  mind." 

Mrs.  Merivale  was  not  at  her  best.  She  was  still 
recuperating  after  a  long  season,  and  taking  great 
care  of  her  roses,  which  were  not  far  from  fading.  So 
she  did  not  wish  Moorhead  to  see  her,  and  sent  him 
a  dainty  note  : 

"My  DEAR  CHARLEY  (or  C.  Norman,  if  you  like  it  better), — 

"  You  certainly  deserve,  as  you  say,  a  reward,  and  I  deeply 
regret  that  all  I  can  give  you  at  present  is  my  thanks  for  tak- 


174  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

ing  my  advice  and  my  congratulations  on  having  done  it  so  ex 
tremely  well. 

"  I  am  almost  famished  for  a  sight  of  you — you  know  that ! — 
but  one  is  not  altogether  one's  own  mistress,  you  know,  and  I 
am  promised  at  the  Egertons'  for  a  couple  of  weeks.  I'm  so 
sorry,  Charley  !  If  you  had  only  written  sooner!  You  can't 
come  to  the  Egertons',  but  be  patient — and — b}'-and-by  ! 

"Besides,  there's  another  reason  that  makes  it  absolutely  im 
possible  for  you  to  come, 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?  The  idea  of  leaving  Tom  at 
this  critical  juncture  is  too  absurd.  He  needs  all  your  atten 
tion,  and  it's  my  positive  command  to  you — I  don't  give  one 
often,  you  know,  but  when  I  do  I  mean  it — that  you  stay  with 
him  till  he  starts  on  his  mission  westward.  It  is  imperative 
that  you  do  so.  You  will,  won't  you  ?  When  he  has  gone  you 
may  come.  Good-bye,  from  yours, 

"NELLY." 

"P.S. — Yes,  tell  him,  by  all  means,  at  once,  and  lose  no  time 
in  coaching  him  up,  so  that  lie  may  start  as  soon  as  possible, 
for  I  won't  marry  you  while  that  engagement  lasts — and,  Char 
ley,  I'm  tired  of  waiting  !  Now  do  as  I  tell  you.  Preserve  a 
deep  and  unbecoming  melancholy  before  my  brother-in-law 
elect,  enlarge  on  your  sorrows,  and  extract  from  him,  if  you 
can,  a  wish  that  he  might  be  able  to  help  you. 

"  Say  it's  impossible —    Or — no  ! 

"  Did  I  say  I  was  going  to  the  Egertons'  ?  I  won't.  You  shall 
see  me,  but  you  needn't  come;  I'll  go  and  see  you.  Invite  some 
people  ;  invite  me  among  them.  Get  Mrs.  Bradlee,  your  cousin, 
to  preside  and  matronize  —  I  know  she's  dying  to,  or  will  be 
directly  she  hears  of  it — and  have  her  send  your  invitations. 

"I'll  come,  and  I'll  manage  Thomas  ;  leave  him  to  me,  bless 
him  ! 

"  Do?i't  ask  any  pretty  girls.  It  is  of  the  greatest  importance 
that  he  should  be  unattached  and  uninterested  here. 

"  Ask  the  Wymans  — he's  safe  with  them  —  and  a  few  staid 
elderly  people  —  friends  of  your  ancestors  —  poor  relations  — 
anything  of  that  kind. 

"Do  it  now.  "N." 


LEONORA  OP   THE  YAWMISII  175 

Wherewith  she  called  on  Mrs.  Bradlee,  and  made 
herself  so  agreeable  that  that  lady  was  filled  with 
pleasant  memories  of  her  own  charming  youth,  highly 
approved  of  the  sweet,  modest,  young  lady — a  widow, 
and  yet  a  mere  child  ! — and  inly  complimented  Char 
ley  on  his  good  taste,  and  rejoiced  that  he  had  escaped 
from  that  backwoods  entanglement. 


XXI 


MRS.  BEADLEE  was  delighted,  as  the  astute  Nelly 
had  prophesied,  to  matronize  Wellwood.  She  was 
well  pleased  too  at  the  list  of  Charles's  guests.  They 
were  all  old  friends,  as  Mrs.  Merivale  had  proposed, 
"of  his  ancestors,"  and  she  felt  that  the  young  head 
of  the  family  was  showing  a  highly  proper  respect  for 
the  last  generation.  She  suggested,  indeed,  a  few 
young  girls  and  their  mammas,  but  Charles  called  her 
attention  to  the  fact  of  Tom. 

Tom  was  a  dangerous  ineligible  —  wild,  penniless, 
attractive.  He  wished  to  keep  him  away  from  girls 
— for  his  own  sake  and  theirs — till  he  had  succeeded 
in  putting  him  on  a  sound  and  solvent  basis.  It 
would  not  be  the  Thing  to  present  such  an  unknown 
quantity  as  Tom  at  Charles's  own  house  to  maidens 
who,  it  was  to  be  hoped,  would  do  better  for  them 
selves. 

"Quite  right  and  very  thoughtful  of  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Bradlee.  "Still,  if  Tom  could  make  a  good 
marriage — " 

"It  is  not  to  be  thought  of  at  present.  He  is  too 
flighty,"  said  the  affectionate  brother. 

Mrs.  Bradlee  went  down  to  "Wellwood,  issued  the 
invitations,  and  the  guests  arrived. 

Everybody  behaved  well.  The  ancestral  friends 
played  whist,  took  tea,  and  drove  about  in  state. 


LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISH  177 

Mrs.  Merivale  was  Mrs.  Bradlee's  right  hand,  and 
went  about  making  everybody  comfortable.  She  treat 
ed  Tom  with  a  shy  reserve  very  becoming  to  a  sister- 
in-law  elect,  who  felt  herself,  as  it  were,  on  probation. 
She  seemed  constantly  trying  in  small  ways,  wistfully, 
to  win  his  approval. 

"Well,  Tom," said  Charles,  one  day,  "what  do  you 
think  of  my  choice  ?" 

"A  lovely  woman,  sweetened  by  sorrow/'  said  Tom. 

"  What  does  he  say  ?"  Mrs.  Merivale  asked,  after 
wards. 

"He  says  you're  a  lovely  woman,  sweetened  by 
sorrow/' 

"  Oh,  he  says  that,  does  he  ?  He's  right,"  said  Mrs. 
Merivale.  "  Then  he's  ripe  for  plucking.  I'll  speak 
to  him  to-day,  Charley/' 

She  found  Tom  smoking  in  a  secluded  spot.  He 
laid  aside  his  pipe  and  mentioned  the  beauty  of  the 
afternoon. 

"Mr.  Moorhead/'  said  she,. hesitating,  "I  know  you 
don't  want  to  be  bothered,  but  I  wish  to  ask  your  ad 
vice — and  help." 

"I'm  all  at  your  service,"  said  he. 

"  Charles  —  your  brother  —  has  —  of  course  he  has 
spoken  to  you  of  our  —  our  engagement,"  said  she, 
shyly. 

She  looked  down,  and  her  manner  had  the  effect  of 
a  blush.  Then,  without  raising  her  head,  she  slowly 
turned  her  large  eyes  upward  towards  his. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom,  "  of  course  he  has.  He  is  highly 
to  be  congratulated." 

"There  !"  said  she,  "you  have  that  same  mysteri 
ous  tone  that  he  has"  (Tom  had  not  been  aware  of 
12 


178  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

his  "mysterious  tone"),  "as  if  something  were  wrong 
about  it.  Something  is  wrong — I  know  it,  I  can  feel 
it ;  but  I'm  all  in  the  dark,  and  can't  see  what  it  is. 
Our  engagement  ought  to  make  him  happy,  and  it 
seems  to  have  saddened  him.  He's  a  different  man — 
moody  and  melancholy.  He  never  used  to  be  that ; 
and  he  won't  tell  me  what  the  matter  is.  It's  that  I 
came  to  ask  you  about.  I  feel  sure  it's  something 
connected  with  our  engagement  that  makes  it  so.  Is 
it  ?  I'm  so  anxious  for  his  happiness  !  I'd  break  it 
off  in  a  moment  if  I  thought  that  better  for  him. 
Do  you  know  what  it  is  that  makes  him  unhappy  ?" 

"I — er  —  do  I  —  is  he  unhappy?"  Tom  faltered, 
wishing  himself  back  in  his  extremely  quiet  and  peace 
ful  office,  or  anywhere  rather  than  here. 

"You  know  what  it  is  !"  said  the  lady.  "Oh  !  you 
can't  deceive  me.  People  don't  hesitate  in  that  way, 
unless  they  are  thinking  what  to  say.  Is  it  money 
troubles  ?" 

"He's  not  troubled  .about  money,"  said  Tom. 
"Nelly  —  Mrs.  Merivale — please  don't  ask  me  any 
more  questions.  Ask  him.  I'm  sure  he'd  tell  you 
everything — 

"  Then  there  is  something.  I  knew  it.  And  you 
say  it's  not  money.  I  wish  it  were,  for  that  wouldn't 
matter.  Is  it — is  it — any  other  woman  ?" 

"  Really — my  dear  Mrs.  Merivale,"  said  Tom,  turn 
ing  very  red,  "/  can't  be  supposed  to  know  what  is 
the  matter." 

"There,"  said  she,  "it  is  another  woman  !  If  not 
you'd  have  answered  '  No,'  just  as  you  did  about 
money  troubles.  Who  is  she  ?  Tell  me  what  it  all 
means  ;  I  have  a  right  to  know.  Is  he — does  he  be- 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  179 

long  to  some  one  else  ?  Has  he  promised  himself  to 
some  one  else  ?  Tell  me  '  No,'  or  I  shall  believe  that 
he  has  !  Yes  or  No  ?  Can  you  look  me  in  the  face 
and  say  '  No '  ?" 

"I  can't  talk  about  it,"  said  Tom.  "  You  must 
ask  him  about  his  own  affairs.  How  should  /  know 
anything  about  them  ?" 

"  Thank  you.  You've  told  me  all  I  need  know,  I 
think/'  said  she,  very  sadly.  "  I  won't  pry  into  his 
aifairs  further,  for  they  are  mine  no  longer.  Forgive 
me  for  intruding  upon  you  with  questions  ;  but  I  was 
so  anxious  for  him,  and  he  would  tell  me  nothing.  I 
had  a  right  to  ask,  and  hoped  to  help  him  in  his 
trouble,  whatever  it  might  be  ;  but  I  had  not  dreamed 
of  such  a  thing  as  this  !  Good-bye,  for  I  am  not  like 
ly  to  see  you  again." 

She  turned,  bowing  her  head  and  putting  her  hand 
upon  her  forehead,  and  hurried  away — a  pretty,  touch 
ing,  graceful  picture  of  Beauty  in  despair. 

"Good  heavens !"  said  Tom.  "Now,  how  the  devil 
did  she  get  that  piece  of  information  out  of  me  ?  I 
didn't  tell  her  a  word!  Women  in  love  have  the  most 
wonderful  intuition  !  Poor  old  Charley  !  He'll  catch 
it  now  !  Serve  him  right  for  not  telling  her  himself. 
Poor  boy  !  What  will  he  do  ?" 

Mrs.  Merivale  came  laughing  to  Charles  Moorhead 
in  the  library. 

"  Mr.  Moorhead,"  said  she,  coolly,  "  our  engage 
ment  is  at  an  end.  I  find  that  some  one  else  has  a 
prior  claim  on  your  valuable  affections." 

"Why,  Nelly,  you  don't  mean,  really?"  said  Charles, 
puzzled. 

"Don't  be  silly  !     Never  mind  what  I  mean,  which 


180  LEONORA.  OF  THE  YAWMISII 

has  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  what  I  say  is  the  point ! 
You  must  tell  your  brother  what  I  have  just  said ;  also 
tell  him  it's  Ms  fault  for  letting  me  know  about  it. 
Also,  fly  into  a  rage  with  him  and  tell  him  he's  ruined 
your  life,  and  then  mope  and  sulk  and  look  desperate." 

"Did  Tom  tell  you  about  it  ?" 

"No.  But  he  thinks  he  did.  Oh!  He's  too  good. 
Fve  just  been  with  him.  I  came  before  him  in  the 
grove,  meek,  shy,  sad,  all  but  tearful,  and  spoke  with 
him  of  our  engagement.  He  was  kind  enough  to  ap 
prove  of  me.  I  asked  him  what  was  the  matter  with 
you.  He  wouldn't  say,  so  /  told  him,  and  now  he 
thinks  he  told  me.  Now  it's  your  turn. 

"Just  go  and  tell  him  I  came  to  you  and  said  our 
engagement  was  at  an  end.  I  did,  you  know.  Tell 
him  he  had  no  business  to  meddle,  that  he  ought  not 
to  have  told  me  a  word  about  the  other  girl.  Don't 
forget  to  say  that  your  life  is  ruined  ;  or,  no,  you'll 
make  a  mess  of  it.  Wait  and  give  him  the  note  I'll 
send  you." 

She  ran  out,  and  presently  came  Alice  McNally 
with  the  following  production  : 

' '  MR.  C.  NORMAN  MOORIIEAD  : 

"  Dear  Sir, — Your  brother  has  told  me  of  your  engagement. 

"Let  me  congratulate  you.  You  need  not  let  anything  you 
may  remember  having  said  to  me  stand  in  the  way  of  your 
marriage  to  the  lady  who  is,  I  doubt  not,  in  every  way  worthy 
of  your  devotion. 

"As  I  go  home  to-day,  and  shall  not  see  you  before  I  go,  I 
will  say,  Good-bye. 

"Sincerely, 

"H.  A.  MERIVALE." 

Another  note  was  enclosed  : 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH  181 

' '  DEAR  CHARLEY,  — 

"I'm  off  to-day.  Sorry  to  go,  but  it  will  give  color  to  tlie 
proceedings.  Will  see  you  in  half  an  hour  and  give  you  further 
instructions.  Yours  for  keeps, 

"NELLY." 

The  next  day  a  gloom  had  fallen  upon  the  house  at 
Wellwood. 

Mrs.  Bradlee  was  vexed  and  puzzled  by  the  sudden 
departure  of  her  fascinating  guest,  who  had  taken  an 
early  train  with  one  of  those  explanations  that  do  not 
explain. 

The  host  was  preoccupied  and  openly  dismal.  The 
guests  sat  about  and  gossiped  and  promulgated  the 
ories,  with  much  lifting  of  eyebrows.  They  enjoyed 
it,  themselves. 

Tom  was  thoroughly  wretched,  looking  rather  guilt 
ily  at  his  brother,  who  shot  angry  glances  at  him  now 
and  then,  but  avoided  speaking  to  him. 

At  last  Tom,  feeling  that  he  ought,  plucked  up 
courage  to  go  and  find  his  brother  alone. 

"Well,  Charley  ?"  he  said,  and  Charles  handed  him 
the  letter  without  a  word. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am,  Charley,"  said  Tom. 

"You  needn't;  I  don't  see  that  it  makes  any  differ 
ence." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Tom.  "  But  I  didn't  think 
I  told  her.  I  don't  see  how  she  got  it  out  of  me.  I 
tried  to  avoid  talking  of  the  matter.  But  Mrs.  Meri- 
vale  insisted,  and  put  her  questions  in  such  a  way 
that  they  brought  out  an  answer  whether  I  would  or 
no.  Even  silence  was  an  answer  to  her.  If  I  had 
such  skill  in  cross-examination,  Charles,  I'd  be  one  of 
the  best  lawyers  in — " 


182  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

"Never  mind  about  that.  A  man  whose  life  is 
ruined  doesn't  care  much  about  other  people's  pro 
fessional  prestige/'  said  Charles,  bitterly. 

"  Why  not  write,  break  off  with  the  other  girl,  and 
then  tell  Mrs.  Merivale.  I'm  sure — " 

"  Oh  !  Nonsense  !  I  can't.  It's  not  a  man's  place 
to  break  an  engagement.  I've  given  her  every  chance, 
and  she  won't.  I'm  bound  to  it,  that's  all." 

( '  Perhaps  it's  better  so.  From  your  description  of 
that  Western  girl,  she  must  be  as  much  the  superior 
of  Nelly  Merivale  as  a — 

"That  will  do,"  Charles  broke  in.  "I  don't  care 
to  hear  any  comparisons  between  the  two,  or  any  com 
ments  011  Mrs.  Merivale ;"  and  he  turned  away  and 
hid  his  face. 

"  I  wish  there  were  any  way  in  which  I  could  make 
amends.  I'd  give  my  life  to  do  it,  old  fellow  !"  cried 
Tom,  deeply  distressed.  "You  have  taken  me  out 
of  misery,  fed  and  clothed  me,  and  made  me  myself 
again ;  and  now  I  have  brought  only  trouble  upon  you 
in  return.  But  what  can  I  do  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  can  do,"  said  Charles,  in 
what  seemed  a  sudden  fit  of  passion.  "  Go  out  and 
marry  her  yourself ;  or  else  hold  your  tongue,  and 
don't  bother  me." 

"  Marry  her  myself  !"  said  Tom,  with  a  bitter  laugh 
at  what  he  thought  a  bitter  jest.  "  It's  likely  she'd 
marry  me,  when  she's  in  love  with  you  /" 

Tom  fully  believed  in  the  superiority  of  Charles. 
The  latter  suddenly  turned  to  him  and  laid  his  hand 
on  his  arm, 

"  Wait  a  while,  Tom,"  said  he,  more  kindly.  "  Some 
thing  has  occurred  to  me — I  must  think  it  over.  You 


LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISII  183 

say  you  wish  to  help  me.  I  believe  you  can,  if  only 
you  will ;  I'll  tell  you  later.  Now  let  me  think.  Would 
you  mind  letting  me  be  quite  alone  awhile  ?" 

"Til  do  anything  and  all  I  can  to  help  you — you 
may  be  sure  of  that/'  said  Tom,  and  went  out  and 
walked  in  the  moonlight,  waiting  his  brother's  pleas 
ure,  and  determined  to  make  any  sacrifice  for  his  hap 
piness. 

"Though  how  on  earth  he  thinks  I  can  help  him 
out  is  more  than  I  can  see.  But  Fll  do  it,  whatever 
it  is,  if  only  to  show  him  I'm  willing,"  said  he  to  him 
self. 

All  day  long  Charles  seemed  brooding  over  some 
thing,  but  rather  less  dismal.  The  friends  of  his  an 
cestors  watched  him  with  interest,  Mrs.  Bradlee  with 
perplexity,  Tom  with  deep  anxiety. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  guests  had  gone,  Mrs. 
Bradlee  said  to  Charles:  "Do  you  mind  my  asking 
what  you  have  done  to  Nelly  Merivale,  or  what  she 
has  done  to  you  ?  It  doesn't  take  much  perspicacity 
to  see  that  something  is  wrong.  You  ought  not  to 
let  such  things  appear." 

"  My  dear  cousin/'  said  Charles,  "  I  wish  I  could 
tell  yon  all  about  it,  but  I  can't.  And  yet  I  don't 
know  why  I  shouldn't.  It's  just  this  ;  she's  found 
out  about  my  other  engagement." 

"Well,  I  really  don't  see  why  she  should  be  so  par 
ticular.  She's  been  married  once,  and  why  your  hav 
ing  been  engaged — why,  you've  been  engaged  to  other 
girls,  too  ;  and  she  knows  about  that,  because  she 
spoke  of  it  to  me,  and  didn't  care.  I  don't  under 
stand  it.  Perhaps  she  thinks  this  backwoods  maiden 
just  one  too  many." 


184  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

Mrs.  Bracllee  began  to  wish  that  she  had  never  told 
any  one  of  Charles's  escapade,  as  she  considered  it. 

"Yes,  she's  been  married  once/'  said  Charles,  rue 
fully.  "But  that's  over,  and  this  engagement  is 
not." 

"What!"  cried  Mrs.  Bradlee,  almost  screaming. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  didn't  wait  till  it  was 
broken  off  ?— that  it  still  exists  ?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  trouble,  you  see." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  You  can't  give 
up  Nelly  for  that  doubtless  perfect  but  impossible 
person  out  there  ?" 

"I  don't  intend  to." 

"  Then,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  Write  at  once 
and  say  it's  impossible." 

"I  can't.  I've  tried  and  can't  bring  myself  to 
do  it." 

"  Good  heavens  !  How  did  Nelly  find  out  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Bradlee. 

"She  says  she  noticed  something  queer  about  my 
manner  and  got  it  out  of  Tom." 

"But  now,  what  can  you  do  about  it,  if  you  don't 
write  ?  You  surely  don't  mean  to  go  on  and  marry 
Mrs.  Merivale  without  telling  that  girl  anything  about 
it,  and  let  her  go  on  thinking  she's  engaged  to  you  ?" 

"  I  couldn't  if  I  would.  Nelly  won't  have  it."  And 
he  divulged  to  her  the  Utopian  plan  with  regard  to 
Tom,  without,  however,  mentioning  Mrs.  Merivale's 
part  in  it ;  merely  stating  that  he  intended  to  set 
Tom  up  for  life  in  worldly  possessions,  and  should 
make  his  marriage  to  Leonora  a  condition. 

The  old  lady  laughed  aloud.  "  Fiddle  !  Stuff  and 
nonsense  !"  she  cried.  "Do  you  really  think — do  you 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  185 

think  for  a  moment  that  he'll  do  it  ?  Or  that  she 
will  fall  into  such  an  absurd  trap  ?" 

"  I  shall  try  it." 

"  Oh  !  I  wash  my  hands  of  you  ;  no,,  I'll  say  noth 
ing  about  it ;  but  I'm  done  with  you  unless  you  write 
to  that  girl  like  a  man,  at  once,  and  tell  her  the  truth. 
I  never  heard  of  such  a  childish  scheme.  What  will 
people  say  when  it  all  comes  out  ?" 

"  You — you  surely  won't  tell  ?" 

"Tell — no,  boy,  I'm  too  much  ashamed  of  you  to 
speak  of  it  or  even  think  of  it." 

Mrs.  Bradlee  stayed  till  the  guests  had  gone,  and 
went  away  leaving  Charles  to  his  own  devices. 


XXII 

CHARLES  came  late  at  night  to  his  brother's  room, 
and  sat  down  on  the  bed. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  old  fellow/'  said  he.  "  You 
can  help  me  if  you  will." 

"  If  I  will  !"  said  Tom.     "  Just  tell  me  how  !" 

"  What  I  am  going  to  propose  may  not  seem  ex 
actly  sensible  to  you  at  first.  But  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  have  looked  at  it  from  every  possible  point  of 
view,  examined  it  in  every  light,  and  found  it  reason 
able  and  practicable,  I  am  sure  you  will  try,  at  least, 
to  do  it  for  me.  I  think  you  owe  it  to  me  to  try, 
Tom." 

"There's  no  doubt  of  that,  Charley.  And  if  I 
didn't  I'd  try  anything  that  offered  a  chance  of  mak 
ing  you  happier." 

"  Then,  this  is  the  position  :  Nelly  would  marry 
me,  I'm  sure,  if  this  engagement  were  broken  off.  In 
fact,  she  as  good  as  told  ine  so. 

"Now,  /can't  break  it.  A  man  doesn't  do  that. 
And  if  I  might,  I  simply  haven't  the  heart  to  write  to 
that  girl  and  say  I  won't  marry  her. 

"  Yet  if  I  do  marry  her  I  am  doing  a  great  wrong  to 
her  and  Nelly  and  myself.  You  see  that,  don't  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  I'm  also  doing  wrong  now  in  letting  her 
think  I  shall  marry  her  when  I  cannot." 


LEONORA  OF  THE   YAWMISH  187 

"Yes." 

"  Then,  the  only  way  is  to  have  her  break  the  en 
gagement  of  her  own  accord. 

"Now,  Tom,  it's  three  years  since  I've  seen  her, 
and  I  hardly  remember  her  face. 

"  If  another  girl,  very  much  like  her,  came  to  me 
and  said,  '  Don't  you  know  me  ?  I  am  Leonora/  and 
reminded  me  of  things  that  had  passed  between  us, 
I  should  think  it  was  she.  It  is  reasonable  to  sup 
pose  that  her  remembrance  of  me  is  even  less  dis 
tinct,  for  she  has  a  very  striking  face  and  presence. 
I  have  not — that  is,  not  so  striking  as  hers. 

"Now,  Tom,  you  know  how  a  beard  changes  a  man. 
How  often  you  fail  to  recognize  a  man  who  has  grown 
a  beard  since  you  have  seen  him  last  ! 

"You  know  that  you  and  I  are  much  alike  in  height 
and  shape  and  action  ;  that  we  both  have  the  mother's 
eyes  and  the  old  gentleman's  nose  and  voice,  eh  ?" 

He  waited  for  Tom  to  answer,  but  Tom  did  not  un 
derstand. 

"  Well  ?"  said  he. 

"  Tom,"  said  his  brother,  "  if  you  go  out  there  and 
see  her,  you'll  fall  in  love  with  her,  as  I  did." 

"  That  is  not  unlikely,"  said  Tom.  "  I  am  only  too 
easy  a  prey,  as  a  rule." 

"  I  doubt  if  you  could  find  a  better  wife  in  the 
world,  Tom.  If  Nelly  had  not  become  necessary  to 
me  long  ago — but  she  is — 

"  But  suppose  I  went  out  and  made  love  to  her — 
that  seems  to  be  your  idea  as  nearly  as  I  can  make 
out  ?  She  wouldn't  throw  you  over  for  me,  Charley. 
And,  if  she  did,  I'm  in  no  position  to  marry  !" 

Tom  had  begun  to  think  his  brother  was  crazy  to 


188  LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISH 

make  such  a  suggestion,  but  did  not  like  to  say  so. 
So  he  reasoned  with  him  instead. 

"  Great  obstacles,  dear  boy,"  said  Charles,  "  but 
not  insurmountable.  In  the  first  place,  you  need 
have  no  fear  about  money  matters,  if  that's  what  you 
mean.  I'll  take  care  that  you  are  in  a  position  to 
marry,  as  far  as  that  goes.  The  question  is  :  If  you 
should  see  her  and  grow  fond  of  her  and  she  were 
willing  to  marry  you,  would  you  marry  her  ?" 

' '  Why,  yes,  of  course  ;  if  I  grew  fond  of  her,  I  sup 
pose  I  would." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  think  you  wouldn't  fall 
in  love  with  her  ?" 

"  Why,  none  in  particular.     Dare  say  I  should." 

"  Well,  now,  listen  !  All  you've  to  do  is  this  : 
Grow  a  beard.  Imitate  my  manner.  Go  out  and  see 
her.  See  if  she  doesn't  think  you  are  I.  If  she  does, 
don't  contradict  her. 

"  The  beard  and  lapse  of  time  will  account  for  any 
change  in  looks  ;  time  again  for  change  in  manner. 
If  she  notices  a  difference  still,  lay  it  to  the  fault  of 
her  own  memory  after  all  these  years.  I  was  only 
there  a  little  over  a  month,  you  know.  I  can  tell  you 
enough  of  what  passed  between  us  to  enable  you  to 
talk  to  her  of  old  times.  What  you  don't  know  she'll 
think  you  have  forgotten.  If  you  make  mistakes, 
she'll  think  either  you  or  she  has  forgotten.  But  I 
can  prime  you  on  all  material  points — 

"  Look  here,  Charley,  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 
really,  seriously  ask  me  to  do  this  ?  Why,  man,  you're 
crazy  !" 

' '  You  won't  try  it,  then,  Tom  ?"  said  Charles,  very 
sadly,  in  a  tone  of  deep  disappointment. 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  189 

"But — my  dear  boy,  yon  can't  be  in  earnest." 

"  Will  yon  do  it  or  not,  Tom  ?" 

"  I'd  do  anything  I  could,  Charley,  as  yon  know/' 

"Oh  yes,  I  know.  Yon  would  do  anything,  and 
you  ivon't  do  anything." 

"Anything  in  reason,  of  course;  but — 

"  '  Anything  in  reason,  but — '  is  the  usual  answer  of 
a  man  who  doesn't  care  to  be  obliging,  but  wants  it 
understood  that  he  does  !" 

Tom  looked  hurt,  and  said:  "Wait  a  bit,  Charley. 
I  don't  say  that  I  won't  do  it.  But  I  think  I  see  a 
better  way  out  of  it  than  that." 

"What  is  it,  then  ?"  said  Charles. 

"Never  mind  yet.  Give  me  a  little  time  to  think 
about  it.  A  man  can't  undertake  a  step  so  important 
both  to  himself  and  others  without  careful  considera 
tion." 

"  I  don't  see  why  not.  What  better  prospect  have 
you  to  offer  yourself  ?  I  offer  you  wealth  and  ease,  a 
home,  and  independence  ;  and  the  only  condition  at 
tached  is  that  you  marry  a  lovely  woman.  By  doing 
so  you  still  make  me  your  debtor  and  remove  a  great 
trouble  for  Nelly  and  me.  It's  worth  trying.  Plenty 
of  fellows  would  go  out  there  gladly  enough  just  for 
the  trip  and  the  chance  of  meeting  such  a  person  as 
Leonora  Willoughby.  Once  you  see  her,  I'll  trust  you 
to  make  love  to  her  fast  enough." 

This  latter  view  of  the  matter  began  to  appeal  to 
Tom.  But  he  said,  "I  can't  decide  at  once." 

That  night  he  wrote  Mrs.  Merivale  a  most  pathetic 
letter,  setting  forth  the  sorrows  of  Charles  in  a  pite 
ous  manner  :  telling  her  of  the  proposition  his  broth 
er  had  made  to  him,  as  proof  that  Charles  was  in- 


190  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH. 

finitely  fonder  of  her  than  he  could  be  of  the  other, 
and  asking  her  to  be  kind  to  Charles  and  use  all  her 
influence  with  him  to  make  him  break  off  his  other 
engagement. 

By  return  mail  he  had  her  answer : 

"MY  DEAR  MR.  MOORHEAD, — 

"I  will  not  conceal  from  you  the  fact  that  I  am  move  de 
lighted  than  I  can  tell  to  know  that  your  brother's  words  to  me 
were  not  idle,  and  that  his  professed  attachment  to  me  is  real. 
I  am  fond  of  him— why  should  I  deny  it  ?— though  when  I  think 
of  that  poor  '  other  girl '  my  heart  misgives  me,  both  because  I 
am  sorry  for  her  and  because  her  circumstances  warn  me  to 
beware  of  my  own  ;  for  how  can  I  tell  that  the  love  that 
failed  her  will  not  fail  me  also  ?  Yet  I  own  that  I  should  be 
willing  — foolishly,  perhaps  — to  trust  it  if  your  brother  were 
free. 

"But  from  his  point  of  view,  which  I  share,  it  is  impossible 
for  him  to  ask  her  to  release  him  from  his  promise.  She  must 
do  so  voluntarily  if  at  all.  And  how  can  she  be  brought  to  do 
that  unless  she  can  be  made  to  care  for  some  one  else  ? 

"Now,  if  you  are  'fancy-free,'  why  not  at  least  try  the  ex 
periment  your  brother  proposes  ?  She  is,  from  his  account,  a 
very  beautiful,  delightful  girl,  worth  knowing,  anyway.  Go 
and  see  her.  You  needn't  marry  her  if  you  don't  want  to.  If 
you  find  she  mistakes  you  for  your  brother,  I  see  no  reason 
why  you  should  not  let  her  think  you  are  he  for  a  while.  If 
she  gives  you  the  love  she  thought  was  his,  why  it  will  be  you 
she  lores— not  him,  but  you,  no  matter  who  she  may  think  you 
are.  Then  who  is  hurt  ?  Not  she,  for  she  will  have  the  man 
she  loves  and  be  spared  a  mortification  ;  not  you,  for  you  will 
have  a  lovely  bride  and  wealth  to  give  her  ;  not  Charles,  for 
he  will  be  free  to  marry  the  woman  he  has  chosen. 

"Oh,  if  I  were  a  man  and  before  me  such  a  quest,  with 
beauty  and  wealth  and  the  welfare  of  some  one  dear  to  me  at 
the  goal,  not  a  scruple  nor  a  difficulty  should  hold  me  back  a 
day;  and  if  there  were  uncertainty  about  it,  it  would  add  to  the 
charm  ! 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  191 

"Try  it  and  win,  and  my  blessings  go  with  you  in  your  at 
tempt  to  bring  us  happiness. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"  HELEN  MERIVALE." 

"  Holy  cake  !"  said  Tom  to  himself,  "  I  believe  I'm 
prejudiced  !     I  never  should  have  supposed  that  any 
one  would  entertain  such  an  idea  for  an  instant.     I 
almost  thought  Charley  had  taken  leave  of  his  usually 
excellent  senses  when  he  proposed  it.     But  really  he's 
generally  as  level-headed  a  chap  as  I  ever  knew,  and 
he  recommends  it;  and  now  Nelly  Merivale,  nee  Trask, 
who  is  also  level-headed,  and  a  very  nice,  sweet  girl 
into  the  bargain,  seems  to  think  still  more  highly  of 
it !     They're  the  very  best  kind  of  people,  both  of 
'em,  and  know  what's  what  better  than  I  do,  and  nei 
ther  of  'em  sees  anything  out  in  my  going  and  passing 
myself  off  for  Charley  on  the  girl  he's  engaged  to — one 
of  the  girls,  I  should  say.     To  be  sure,  I  haven't  seen 
much  of  people  for  some  years,  and  perhaps  I've  lost 
track  of  their  little  ways.    Maybe  I've  grown  quixotic 
too,  and  apt  to  grind  a  point  of  honor  too  fine.     In 
thinking  things  out  by  myself  too  long,  I  may  have 
invented  new   standards   that  other   folk  can't  see. 
The  thing  looks   impossible   to  me,  but  that  don't 
matter  so  much.     If  it's  all  right,  why,  'gad,  I  don't 
want  any  better  fun  than  to  try  it.    1  like  the  way  she 
puts  it:   Quest,  with  love  and  boodle  —  no,  ' beauty 
and  wealth' — at  the  end,  and  wouldn't  she  try  it  if 
she  were  a  man  and  only  had  the  chance  !     If  Miss 
Willoughby  don't  take  me  for  Charley,  and  sees  right 
through  it — why,  it  won't  hurt  her  any  more  than  to 
have  him  write  and  break  off,  or  marry  Nelly  without 
saying  a  word ;  and  those  seem  to  be  the  only  alter- 


192  LEONORA   OF    THE   YAWMISH 

natives.  If  it  does  hurt  her,  by  the  Lord  Harry,  I'll 
console  her  !  If  she  does  take  me  for  Charley —  Well, 
it's  queer,  but,  as  Nelly  says,  no  one's  hurt.  I'm  in 
for  it  \" 

"I'll  do  it,  Charley,"  he  said.  "I  believe  I  was 
foolish  to  back  out." 

"  Tom,"  said  his  brother,  "  on  the  day  you  marry 
her  you  shall  have  this  house,  the  Aiken  farm,  and 
thirty  thousand  down." 

"Go  slow,"  said  Tom.  "I've  not  seen  her  yet; 
and,  mind,  if  I'm  not  fond  of  her  I  don't  marry  her. 
Moreover,  ten  to  one  it  won't  work.  But  I'm  in  for 
it,  and  I'll  do  my  best," 

Tom,  having  once  made  up  his  mind,  was  as  eager 
and  full  of  anticipation  as  a  child  with  a  new  game. 
He  was  all  impatience,  and  wanted  to  be  oif  at  once; 
but  there  were  other  things  to  be  done  first. 

"The  first  thing,"  said  Charles,  "is  to  write,  and 
accordingly  I  have  written.  Look  here  : 

"  'MY  DEAR  LEONORA, — 

"  '  Shall  you  be  glad  to  see  me  soon,  I  wonder  ?  Is  not  Mr. 
Willoughby  getting  tired  of  the  woods  ?  Surely  he  is  not  the 
only  person  to  be  considered.  Don't  be  surprised  if  I  appear  in 
the  charming  valley  before  the  summer  is  over.  I  hope  and 
beg  that  you  may  be  persuaded  to  leave  it.  It  is  a  pity — a 
shame  ! — that  you  should  waste  your  life  there. 

"  '  How  do  you  like  my  new  hand  ?  I  have  always  written 
with  a  fine  pen  before,  and  have  just  been  trying  a  stub.  How 
it  changes  one's  writing  ! 

"  '  No  more  at  present.     I  am  very  busy  and  very  tired. 

'"Lovingly,  NORMAN.' 

Now,  Tom,  copy  that,  will  you  ?  The  Norman  does 
as  well  for  you  as  for  me,  you  know.  And  try  to 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  193 

come  pretty  near  my  writing.  Then  write  several 
more  letters  before  you  go,  gradually  working  back 
to  your  own  proper  hand.  That  will  make  the  stub 
account  for  any  difference  she  may  subsequently  no 
tice  between  your  writing  and  mine.  Now  mind,  this 
letter  is  from  you,  not  from  me.  There's  nothing  in 
it  to  say  it's  from  me.  You  are  in  my  place,  as  re 
gards  Leonora,  from  this  time  on." 

"  I  see,"  said  Tom,  and  copied  and  sent  the  letter. 
He  devoted  himself  diligently  to  studying  his  part 
and  growing  a  beard. 

Every  day  Charles  spent  some  time  in  going  over 
with  him  the  details  of  his  life  in  the  valley  from  the 
very  first,  and  being  of  good  memory  he  soon  knew  all 
Charles  could  tell  him.  He  also  learned  to  imitate 
his  brother's  peculiarities  of  speech  and  action,  till 
Charles  was  somewhat  annoyed  at  his  proficiency.  He 
dropped  a  certain  swagger  he  had  had,  he  eschewed 
slang,  and  spoke  and  walked  with  eminent  correct 
ness.  The  whole  thing  had  begun  to  strike  him  as  a 
colossal  joke,  and  Tom  was  one  of  those  persons  to 
whom  a  joke  is  dear  and  sacred,  and  who  will  take 
any  pains  to  carry  one  out  successfully. 

One  day  he  ordered  a  carriage  and  drove  off  to  a 
neighboring  town,  when  he  stopped  before  a  house  at 
which  Charles  sometimes  called,  but  where  he  him 
self  was  not  known,  and  sent  up  one  of  his  brother's 
cards. 

Mrs.  Brand  was  at  home. 

"  Dear  me,  Mr.  Moorhead,"  said  she,  "  how  your 
beard  has  changed  you  !  I  should  have  known  you, 
though.  No  one  else  bows  just  like  that." 

Tom  sat  down,  and,  having  carefully  conducted  his 

13 


194  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

brother's  manner  through  a  series  of  conventionali 
ties,  among  which  was  a  touch  of  indignation  at  the 
allusion  to  his  beard  and  bow,  took  his  leave  unde 
tected. 

"Charley,"  said  he,  when  he  got  home,  "will  you 
do  me  a  favor  ?     Call  on  Mrs.  Brand  to-morrow." 
"  Why  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  !     There's  a  little  surprise  for  you 
there,  that's  all !" 
"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  I  can't  well  enter  into  explanations.    It's  remote 
ly  connected,  however,  with  your  prospects  in  regard 
to  Mrs.  Merivale." 
Charles  went. 

"Ah,  this  is  an  unexpected  pleasure  !"  said  Mrs. 
Brand,  observing  her  caller's  clean-shaven  chin  with 
interest.     "  So  you've  parted  with  it !     I  must  say  I 
like  you  better  with  it  than  without." 
"  I  beg  pardon  ?"  said  Charles,  mystified. 
"  Oh,  you   needn't   apologize,"   said   Mrs.  Brand. 
"A  man  may  do  as  he  will  with  his  own.     All  the 
same,  I  think  you'd  do  well  to  let  it  grow  again." 

"  Really,  I — er— cannot  imagine  to  what  you  refer, 
Mrs.  Brand  !"  said  Charles,  turning  quite  red. 

"  How  deliriously  funny  of  you  !  But  truly  I'd  no 
idea  that  an  allusion  to  your  beard  would  hurt  your 
feelings,  as  it  seems  to  have  done,"  said  she.  "  It's 
plainly  a  tender  subject,  and  I'm  interested  in  ten 
der  subjects.  Now  tell  me  ;  why— why  have  you  part 
ed  with  it  ?  Forgive  a  woman's  curiosity — " 
A  light  dawned  upon  Charles. 

"  Oh,  my  beard  !     To  be  sure— yes— quite  so— just 
a  fancy— I—"  said  he. 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  195 

"  Ah  !  Now  I  know  !  Of  course.  How  stupid  in 
me  ! — you  wanted  a  really  candid  opinion  about  your 
appearance  with  and  without — before  and  after — so 
you  came  yesterday  with  it  and  without  it  to-day. 
Thanks  for  your  faith  in  my  taste,  and  you've  had 
my  opinion  I" 

Poor  Charles  could  hardly  conceal  his  wrath.  He 
hated  personal  remarks  of  any  kind,  and  the  imputa 
tion  of  having  called  twice  in  two  days  on  Mrs.  Brand, 
whom  he  was  inclined  to  patronize,  one  day  with  a 
beard  and  one  without,  for  her  opinion,  was  terribly 
galling.  He  did  not  attempt  to  explain,  however, 
but  stayed  out  his  short  call,  with  an  awkward  stiff 
ness  of  manner  and  evident  ill-temper,  which,  com 
bined  with  the  foregoing  circumstances,  made  Mrs. 
Brand  think  he  had  turned  extremely  queer. 

"Did  you  see  Mrs.  Brand  ?"  Tom  asked,  with  much 
interest,  on  his  return. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Brand  was  at  home." 

"Did  you— enjoy  your  call  ?" 

"  It  seems  to  me  high  time  for  you  to  go  about 
your  undertaking,"  said  Charles.  "  I  am  obliged  for 
this  signal  proof  of  your  ability  to  succeed  in  it  that 
you  have  just  given,  and  feel  no  need  of  further  dem 
onstrations." 

"I  am  fully  prepared,"  said  Tom,  mocking  his 
testy  manner,  "to  conduct  it  to  a  successful  issue." 

Two  days  later  he  set  out,  delighted  with  the  nov 
elty  and  excitement  of  his  adventure,  with  plenty  of 
money  in  his  pocket  and  a  sense  of  having  done  a 
good  thing;  for  his  brother  and  the  pretty  widow 
were  friends  again,  and  let  him  understand  that  he 
had  brought  about  that  happy  result. 


196  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

Now,  when  Mrs.  Bradlee  heard  that  he  had  gone 
she  was  very  angry,  and  rated  Charles  and  Mrs.  Meri- 
vale  for  a  pair  of  silly  children  ;  told  them  that  if  she 
had  ever  supposed  they  seriously  contemplated  such 
a  ridiculous  plan  she  would  have  prevented  it  if  she 
had  been  obliged  to  have  one  or  both  of  them  con 
fined  as  non  compos  —  which  she  was  good  enough  to 
say  might  easily  have  been  done  under  the  circum 
stances. 


XXIII 

ONE  day  in  July  a  boat  was  steaming  slowly  down 
Puget  Sound  from  Vancouver.  It  was  raining — a  rare 
occurrence  at  that  season — and  the  passengers  saw 
only  occasional  glimpses  of  the  dark  shaggy  head 
lands.  The  wind  shifted.  The  clouds  broke  and 
rolled  away  in  masses.  The  shores  began  to  appear, 
gleaming  in  the  wet  farther  and  farther  inland,  and 
great  blue  masses  showed  in  the  distance  above  the 
green  ;  the  clouds  rose  higher,  and  one  by  one  the 
peaks  shone  out,  and  all  was  glorious  with  light  and 
color. 

Tom,  sitting  at  the  bow,  saw  a  splendid  white  cone 
of  rich  outlines  rising  far  into  the  clear  blue,  and 
asked  a  solemn-looking  man  in  a  tall  hat  and  a  suit 
of  black  what  peak  it  was.  The  man  came  close  and 
whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Sh !  it's  Mount  Rainier;  but 
you'd  better  not  name  it  till  you're  safe  in  Seattle, 
if  that's  where  you're  bound  ?" 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  to  Seattle,"  said  Tom  ;  "but  why 
not  ?" 

"  There  may  be  Tacoma  people  aboard,"  said  the 
other,  looking  apprehensively  about  him.  "  They  call 
it  Mount  Tacoma,  and  they  won't  have  it  called  any 
thing  else.  They  think  it  belongs  to  Tacoma,  and  want 
all  the  credit  themselves.  Likewise,  when  in  Seattle 
don't  call  it  Tacoma,  or  you'll  get  into  trouble." 


198  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

"  I  see,"  said  Tom.     "  AVhat's  the  penalty  ?" 

"  Personal  violence  among  the  lower  classes,  social 
extinction  among  the  higher.  In  the  tribunal,  con 
tempt  of  court.  Among  the  old  settlers  I'd  be  afraid 
to  say  what  might  happen."  And  the  stranger,  sol 
emnly  regarding  Tom,  chuckled  internally  from  the 
depths  of  his  gravity. 

"  I  take  it  you're  a  Seattle  man  yourself,  sir  ?"  said 
Tom. 

"I  am  proud  to  say  that  I  am,  sir — Druby,  of  Se 
attle."  And  he  produced  two  cards,  one  of  which 
was  edged  with  black  and  bore  the  legend  : 

SOLOMON  DRUBY, 

Undertaker  and  Florist. 

The  other : 

SOLOMON  DRUBY, 

Attorney  and   Counsellor  at  Law, 

Notary  Public.  Justice  of  the  Peace. 

Real  Estate  Agent. 

"An  harmonious  combination,"  said  Tom.  "You 
can  draw  a  man's  will,  bury  him,  settle  his  estate,  and 
dispose  of  his  realty." 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  other ;  "and  since  you  are  com 
ing  to  our  city  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  of  use  to  you  in 
the  one  capacity,  and,  should  occasion  arise,  will  serve 
you  in  the  other  with  becoming  regret." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Tom  ;  "  I'll  remember.  Do  you 
conduct  both  branches  of  the  profession  in  the  same 
office  ?" 

"I  find  it  convenient  to  do  so,"  said  the  other,  "as 
a  recent  case  will  illustrate  :  A  man  died  in  a  board- 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  199 

ing-house,,  and,  after  waiting  a  more  than  sufficient 
length  of  time  for  his  friends  to  come  and  claim  him, 
the  landlady,  at  the  request  of  the  other  lodgers, 
handed  him  over  to  me.  I  gave  the  case  all  due  at 
tention,  and  the  funeral  was  on  for  the  afternoon. 
Meanwhile  Darnley — a  mere  scavenger,  sir,  who  calls 
himself  an  undertaker — had  somehow  found  out  where 
he  belonged,  and  wired  his  relatives,  asking  for  the 
job,  and  offering  to  do  it  at  a  price  for  which  no  man 
with  any  self-respect  would  care  to  be  buried.  They 
gave  him  the  job,  and  while  I  had  gone  for  my  hearse 
he  came  with  his  and  took  the  body  away.  My  assist 
ant  ran  straight  to  me.  It  took  me  just  one  minute 
and  a  half  to  draw  a  writ  in  quantum  mcruit,  suing 
estate  of  deceased,  two  more  to  put  it  in  the  hands  of 
an  officer.  We  gave  chase,  and,  just  as  they  were  en 
tering  the  cemetery  my  hearse  dashed  up.  We  attached 
that  corpse  in  transitu  for  my  services.  The  relatives 
had  to  give  in  and  pay  up,  and  I  buried  that  man  with 
as  much  respect  as  if  I  had  never  put  an  attachment 
on  him.  And  there  he  lies.  That's  what  I  call  hustle!" 

As  the  undertaking  attorney  finished  his  funereal 
tale  the  boat  rounded  the  promontory,  called  West 
Seattle,  where  a  great  lone  tree  known  as  "  The  Old 
Si  wash"  stands,  with  the  semblance  of  a  pack  on  its 
back,  looking  down  upon  the  harbor,  and  came  out 
of  the  bright  green  of  the  sound  into  Elliott  Bay, 
blue  with  the  fresh  waters  of  the  Dwamish,  the  port 
of  the  Northwest. 

Beyond  the  bay  stood  the  city,  spread  over  a  long, 
high  hill.  Along  the  water-front  lighters,  laden  with 
brick  and  lumber,  were  puffing  slowly,  steam-wheelers 
from  every  part  of  the  sound  were  coming  and  going, 


200  LEONORA  OF  TIIE  YAWMISII 

and  screaming  tugs  were  plying  to  and  fro  among  the 
ships  that  lay  at  anchor.  The  sliora  presented  the 
appearance  of  a  great  encampment  on  the  site  of  a 
newly  sacked  town.  All  along  the  lower  shore,  above 
a  forest  of  blackened  piles,  a  vast  assembly  of  tents, 
great  and  small,  stood  among  ruins  that  still  smoked 
and  skeletons  of  buildings— some  charred  and  broken ; 
some  new  and  growing  ;  while  on  the  ridge  and  upper 
slope  were  terraced  streets  of  a  variety  of  houses — 
pleasant  cottages  among  their  trees  and  vines,  some 
clad  with  ivy,  some  resplendent  with  the  owners'  taste 
in  paint,  and  rough,  bare,  unpainted  shanties,  or 
"  shacks,"  that  stood  above  the  chips  and  shavings 
of  their  making. 

Immense  pile-drivers  were  busy  all  along  the  water 
front  and  far  out  in  the  shallows  of  the  bay,  and  scows 
laden  with  lumber  lay  beside  them.  There  were 
throngs  of  people  idling  about,  and  other  throngs 
pushing  their  hasty  way  among  them.  A  babel  of 
noises,  whistles  screeching,  engines  puffing,  planks 
falling,  loads  dumped  out  on  the  sounding  wharves, 
pile  -  drivers,  hammers,  creaking  derricks,  howling 
dogs,  roaring  teamsters,  the  trundling  of  heavy  trucks, 
and  among  them  all  hardly  a  sound  that  was  not 
harsh  and  discordant. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it  ?"  Druby  asked,  proudly, 
waving  a  glad  hand  at  the  mass  of  rubbish  and  con 
fusion. 

"  Think  of  it  !  How  can  a  man  think  in  all  this 
wrack  and  row  ?"  said  Tom. 

"There,"  said  Drnby,  pointing  to  a  tall  brick  build 
ing  on  the  edge  of  the  ruins,  towering  over  the  low 
white  tents,  "  is  the  Boston  Block  !" 


LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISU  201 

"  Yes  ?" 

"  That's  what.  That,  sir,  is  the  building  that  saved 
the  city.  That  edifice  was  built  and  conducted  on 
conservative  principles.  The  fire  came  tearing  up 
Second  Street.  The  Boston  Block  greeted  it  with  a 
cold  stare—  Ever  been  in  Boston  ?"  said  Druby, 
catching  Tom  confidentially  by  the  coat. 

"  I  have/'  said  Tom. 

"  Well,  you  know  the  way  them  houses  on  Beacon 
Street,  and  the  folks  in  'em,  stare  when  a  feller's  a  bit 
lively  ?"  * 

"I  have  noticed  it." 

"That's  what  they  do.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  that 
fire  was  painting  Seattle  red — cleaning  out  the  town. 
It  came  a-roaring  up  Second  Street  and  met  that  Bos 
ton  Block,  and  started  in  to  caress  it.  The  Boston 
Block  greeted  it  with  that  same  cold  stare  and  turned 
ti  chilly  side  to  its  advances.  The  fire,  sir,  never  got 
over  the  snub.  It  got  discouraged,  and  quit  right 
there.  But  it  got  in  a  sight  of  work  before.  That's 
what  it  did." 

"  So  I  see,"  said  Tom.  "  Will  Seattle  ever  recover 
from  the  fire  ?" 

"  Recover  !"  Druby  shouted,  indignantly.  "  Man, 
it's  the  biggest  boom  Seattle  could  have  had.  0 
boys  !  0  boys !  what  a  boom  !  Can't  you  see  that  9 
Why,  look  here,  the  burned  part  was  a  ramshackle  old 
lot  of  shacks  and  tenements  that  reduced  the  value 
of  the  land  they  stood  on  fifty  per  cent.  !  Who  would 
buy  land  with  such  buildings  ?  No  one  !  Who  would 
pay  rent  for  'em  worth  touching  ?  No  one  !  What 
business  could  succeed  in  such  shanties  ?  None  but 
that  of  the  dive-keeper  and  the  Chinese  laundryman. 


LEONORA  OP   THE   YAWMISH 


Yet  the  owners  wouldn't  tear  'em  clown  ;  the  prop 
erty  had  been  so  unprofitable  they  wouldn't  lay  out  a 
cent  on  it.  The  city  was  perishing,  sir,  of  stagnation- 
dying  of  that  fungus  growth  of  mould  and  rot.  Here 
was  the  most  perfect  harbor — the  only  harbor,  sir,  of 
the  great  Northwest — the  one  port  of  the  richest  cor 
ner  of  earth's  surface — that's  what  it  is — you  hear  me! 
— going  to  wrack  and  ruin  because  of  a  lot  of  rusty  old 
shanties  in  the  hands  of  men  who  wouldn't  pull  'em 
down.  What  happens  ?  Fire  comes  as  from  heaven, 
sir,  and  turns  those  miserable  hotbeds  of  impecunios- 
ity  into  smoke.  The  owners  must  build  or  sell  to  those 
who  will.  A  new  city  will  spring  glorious  from  the 
smoking  ruins.  What  do  we  do  ?  We  take  advantage 
of  the  general  turnout  to  get  in  on  the  ground-floor. 
First  we  get  the  public  eye.  We  press  the  fire  into 
our  service  as  an  advertising  medium ;  it  advertises 
the  name  of  Seattle  in  letters  of  flame  all  over  the 
nation.  People  who  had  never  heard  of  the  place  be 
fore,  and  never  would  have  otherwise,  see  a  full  ac 
count  of  the  glad  disaster  in  the  papers,  and  they  ask, 
What  is  Seattle,  ivhere  is  Seattle  ?  Then  we  rise  up 
and  answer.  Seattle,  sir,  is  the  great,  new,  model  city 

the  home  of  Enterprise — the  cradle  of  a  young  and 

mighty  Prosperity  !  Seattle  is  the  place  where  things 
are  to  be  done  as  they  ought  to  be  done  !  Seattle, 
purged  by  fire  from  the  mistakes  of  former  time  and 
from  all  that  is  undesirable,  is  now  being  rebuilt  on 
the  newest  and  best  lines  of  modern  improvement ! 
Seattle  is  the  only  place  where  everything  is  up  to 
date  !  Where  is  Seattle  ?  Seattle,  sir,  is  in  the  richest 
piece  of  country  in  the  world — the  port  of  the  bound 
less  cedar  forests  of  the  Northwest,  where  the  nations 


LEONORA.   OF   THE   YAWMISFI  203 

come  and  trade  for  shingles — of  the  untold  mineral 
wealth  of  the  Olympics  and  Cascades — " 

"  I  didn't  know  there  had  been  anything  discovered 
in  the  Olympics  and  Cascades,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  said  untold,  I  think,"  said  the  orator.  "  Untold, 
sir,  was  the  word  I  used.  That's  what  I  said — you 
heard  me.  The  vast  grazing  lands  of  Eastern  Wash 
ington  ;  the  unfailing  fisheries  of  the  sound ;  the  rich 
agricultural  regions  of  the  Skagit  and  the  Dwamish 
Valley  —  all  these  pour  out  their  abundance  through 
Seattle,  and  the  ships  of  the  Old  World  go  nobly  laden 
from  her  harbor,  leaving  gold  behind  them.  Seattle 
is,  in  short,  the  Queen  City  of  the  Northwest.  We 
tell  them  that,  sir,  and  then  we  show  them  our  plans 
— broad,  busy  streets,  stately  edifices,  gorgeous  em 
poriums,  big  business  blocks.  Why,  sir,  within  ten 
days  after  the  fire  began  the  plans  were  made,  and 
pictures  of  the  buildings  exactly  as  they  will  stand, 
ready  for  the  eager  public." 

"I  see,"  said  Torn.  "But  where  do  you  get  the 
money  for  all  this  ?" 

"Money  !  Already  thousands  of  lots  are  being  ex 
changed  for  Eastern  capital — already  the  contracts 
for  the  new  buildings  are  sealed  ;  and  on  that  spot 
where  the  ashes  are  still  smoking  whole  blocks  are  al 
ready  let  to  men  of  enterprise,  who  stand  in  with  the 
Fates  and  the  Future — who  know  a  good  thing  when 
they  see  it,  and  will  push  it  along  !"  Here  Mr.  Druby, 
carried  away  by  his  own  eloquence,  smote  his  chest, 
and,  taking  a  dramatic  backward  step,  nearly  fell  over 
the  rail. 

Tom,  not  blessed  with  prophetic  eye,  could  only  see, 
as  the  boat  steamed  slowly  in  towards  her  wharf,  a 


201  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

mass  of  litter  and  confusion — of  scorched  timbers  and 
new  lumber,  of  white  tents  and  gray  smoke,  and  a 
SAvarm  of  people  like  ants  upon  a  hill. 

"You  have  the  true  real-estate  agent's  gift,  Mr. 
Druby,"  said  Tom,  "of  describing  what  you  wish  and 
believing  what  you  say." 

They  disembarked,  and  Tom  lost  sight  of  his  ac-- 
quaintan.ce  in  the  crowd,  though  he  could  still  hear 
him  shouting  that  he  knew  of  a  comfortable  lodging 
which  he  highly  recommended.  The  traveller  allowed 
himself  to  be  hustled — for  it  was  growing  dusk,  and 
he  had  no  time  to  look  about  him — into  a  sort  of  barge 
or  omnibus,  which  took  him  to  a  hotel  far  up  the  hill 
in  the  unburned  part  of  the  city. 

After  a  good  supper  he  went  to  the  post-office.  He 
had  written  to  Leonora,  telling  her  when  he  meant  to 
come  to  Seattle,  and  begging  that  Moloch  might  meet 
him  there,  if  possible,  and  guide  him  through  the  for 
est,  and  might  post  him  a  letter  stating  where  he 
could  be  found. 

There  was  a  letter  for  Norman  Moorhead,  to  be  held 
till  called  for : 

"  DEAR  NORMAN, — 

"I  have  your  letter.  Moloch  cannot  meet  you.  Come  at 
once,  as  best  you  can.  We  need  you. 

"LEONORA   WlLLOUGIIBY." 

Pondering  what  this  might  mean,  he  went  back  to 
the  hotel,  and  fell  asleep  as  soon  as  his  excitement 
would  let  him. 


XXIV 

MOLOCH,  to  whom  his  young  mistress  was  every 
thing  in  life,  thought  she  had  changed  a  great  deal 
since  her  lover's  departure.  He  had  been  accustomed 
to  watch  her  since  her  first  childhood  ;  his  chief  study 
had  been  the  art  of  understanding  her  unspoken 
thoughts,  that  he  might  forestall  her  wishes.  He  had 
thought  that  he  knew  her  well;  and,  like  all  men 
who  presume  to  flatter  themselves  with  the  belief  that 
they  know  a  maiden's  mind,  he  found  himself  at  a 
loss. 

When  Moorhead  was  gone  she  became  passive,  and 
subject  to  moods  of  abstraction  and  absent-minded 
ness.  She  went  out  and  spent  long  days  in  the  moun 
tain  solitudes.  He  listened  for  the  sound  of  her  rifle, 
and  seldom  heard  it ;  he  saw  her  return  in  the  even 
ing  slowly ;  and  then,  instead  of  coming  with  sparkling 
eyes  to  tell  of  the  day's  hunting  or  the  new  places  she 
had  found  in  the  mountains,  and  give  directions  about 
the  game,  she  would  put  her  rifle  in  a  corner  and  sit 
listless  with  her  brown  hands  folded,  looking  up  at 
the  peaks.  Sometimes  she  took  to  her  books,  and  read 
hard  and  diligently  awhile;  but  soon  she  might  be 
seen  sitting  with  her  chin  upon  her  hands  and  her 
books  lying  unheeded,  while  the  pages  turned  at  the 
will  of  the  wind.  Then  she  would  take  her  rifle  and 
wander  aimlessly  in  the  woods  again.  She  grew 


206  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

moody,  too,  and  impatient,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life  was  easily  vexed ;  frowns  came  instead  of  bright 
smiles,  and  bitter  words  sooner  than  laughter. 

Then,  after  a  time,  she  seemed  more  at  peace — less 
restless,  but  no  happier.  Her  face  was  calm,  and  the 
proud  set  of  her  lips  seldom  changed  or  softened.  She 
was  pale,  and  her  eyes  deeper  and  darker,  by  contrast, 
than  ever;  but  the  eager  fires  seemed  pent  in  their 
depths,  and  no  longer  came  dancing  out  to  meet  the 
light. 

She  grew  thinner  a  little,  and  so  seemed  taller,  and 
this,  with  her  slower  movements,  added  to  the  splen 
dor  of  her  presence,  giving  her  a  rare  stateliness  to  be 
wasted  on  her  father,  who  thought  only  of  his  books 
and  fishing,  and  on  poor  Moloch,  who  would  have 
given  half  his  life  to  know  what  was  the  matter  and 
the  other  half  to  help  her. 

He  thought  at  first  that  she  was  pining  for  her 
lover,  and  ventured  to  speak  of  Mr.  Moorhead  as 
often  and  as  pleasantly  as  he  could,  speaking  of  his 
return,  and  proposing  little  plans  to  be  carried  out 
"when  Mr.  Moorhead  came  back7';  and  it  was  then 
that  his  mistress,  who  had  never  had  an  unkind  word 
or  look  for  him  before,  began  to  show  that  her  temper 
was  not  invulnerable,  and  gave  him  to  understand  by 
tone  and  manner  that  she  did  not  care  to  hear  from 
him  of  Mr.  MoorheacTs  return. 

He  gave  it  up,  grieved  and  astonished,  thinking 
she  must  miss  the  man  sorely  indeed  if  the  mere  men 
tion  of  his  name  hurt  her  so  keenly. 

He  had  been  one  day  at  Seattle,  and  had  found  a 
letter  for  Leonora.  All  the  way  home  he  gloated  over 
it,  thinking  that  this  at  last  would  bring  his  little  girl 


LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISII  207 

some  gladness,  and  looked  forward  to  putting  it  in 
her  hand  and  seeing  the  light  of  pleasure  on  her 
face. 

But  when  he  gave  it  to  her,  beaming  himself  in  an 
ticipation,  he  was  bitterly  disappointed. 

She  only  seemed  annoyed,  then  resigned,  and  took 
the  letter  aAvay. 

Moloch  made  a  pretext  for  coming  near  while  she 
read  it,  and  there  was  no  mistaking  her  look.  It  was 
not  mere  annoyance  this  time,  but  sheer  sorrow,  and 
that  day  and  the  next  she  seemed  more  than  pas 
sively  unhappy. 

The  old  servant  put  his  own  interpretation  on  this, 
and  was  wroth.  He  thought  the  letter  had  hurt  her — 
that  Moorhead  had  written  something  that  grieved 
her — Was  faithless  or  unkind,  and  he  cursed  the  man 
who  had  stolen  the  joy  from  his  lady's  eyes,  and  swore 
that  he  should  account  for  it  one  day  to  him. 

She  gave  herself  up  to  hunting,  followed  her  game 
far  to  the  wildest  places  of  the  mountains,  and  slew 
for  the  sake  of  slaying. 

Moloch  begged  her  one  day,  when  she  came  home 
exhausted,  but  still  excited  and  eager  to  be  out  again, 
to  be  more  careful,  and  she  laughed  at  him. 

Even  her  father  began  to  notice  her  long  absences, 
her  scant  words,  and  sad  looks.  "  Leonora/'  said  he, 
"you  go  too  far  and  hunt  too  hard.  You  must  re 
member  that  you  are  a  girl,  after  all,  and  that  home 
is  your  place — not  the  woods." 

"It's  all  home  to  me,"  said  she  :  "the  rocks  and 
caiions  and  the  still  heights,  the  dancing,  singing 
waters  and  the  shadow  of  the  woods  —  they  belong 
to  me,  these  places,  and  I  to  them,  and  the  higher 


208  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

and  deeper  and  stronger,  the  more  lonesome  and  des 
olate  they  are,  the  better  I  love  them  all !" 

"  Then  yon  wouldn't  leave  them — yet  ?"  he  asked, 
rather  wistfully ;  for  he  loved  them  too,  though  his 
promise  to  his  dying  wife  that  he  would  take  Leonora 
away  was  always  on  his  conscience,  and  he  hoped  that 
he  need  not  keep  his  word  yet  awhile,  and  felt  guilty 
of  breaking  faith. 

"No,  no/'  said  she;  "not  for  all  there  is  in  the 
world  besides  !  I  read  of  it  in  these  books,  and  for 
every  good  thing  they  tell  of  are  ten  evil." 

"  You  are  a  wise  woman,"  said  her  father,  "and  I 
am  glad.  I  thought  at  one  time  that  that  puppy  who 
was  here  had  taught  you  discontent." 

She  laughed  without  much  mirth,  and  Moloch,  who 
came  in  just  then  with  a  dish  of  dewy  salmon-berries, 
saw  that  instead  of  blushing,  as  a  girl  ought  when  her 
father,  not  knowing  of  her  lover,  speaks  his  name  to 
her,  she  grew  pale  and  looked  straight  forward  with 
a  set  face — a  fact  which  he  set  down  in  his  heart's  ac 
count  against  Moorhead. 

He  was  sadder  for  her  than  ever,  for  he  knew  that 
she  could  not  be  always  hunting  and  roving  the  woods 
and  mountains,  and  wondered  how  it  would  be  with 
her,  whether  she  left  them  with  a  husband  for  the 
world  she  had  learned  from  her  father  and  her  books 
to  hate,  or  whether  she  stayed  there  in  the  valley  till 
her  friends  were  gone  and  age  came  to  her  alone  in 
the  wilderness.  He  swore  to  himself  that  he  would 
live  for  her,  old  as  he  was,  while  she  had  need  of  him, 
for  he  was  strong  as  a  young  man  still,  and  in  her 
service  yet  stronger. 

So  their  life  went  on  without  event  of  mark,  save 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII  209 

for  such  small  risks  to  life  and  limb  as  Leonora  ran 
when  climbing  in  the  mountain  fastnesses — almost 
any  of  which  would  have  lasted  an  ordinary  girl  a 
lifetime,  had  it  left  her  any ;  but  these  she  kept  to 
herself. 

She  still  wrote  to  Moorhead  whenever  Moloch  went 
to  the  sound,  and  still  received  his  letters,  but  with 
indifference,  showing  neither  pleasure  nor  sorrow. 

Winter  came,  and  the  forest  was  dark  under  a 
thatch  of  moist  snow;  the  tossing  river  made  fan 
tastic  imagery  of  ice  with  its  spray  that  froze  upon 
the  rocks ;  the  mountains  were  as  a  marble  wall,  and 
the  snow  lay  deep  in  the  valley ;  the  elk  came  down 
and  herded  together  in  sheltered  places,  fearing  noth 
ing  but  the  cold ;  and  now  and  then  a  great  black  bear 
went  lumbering  along  the  river  trail  on  his  journey  to 
the  fishing  in  the  open  water,  or  a  few  timber-wolves 
howled  their  prayers  to  Famine  in  the  long  nights. 

The  old  man,  his  daughter,  and  his  servant  stayed 
in  the  cabin  beside  great  open  fires — Mr.  Willoughby 
smoking,  and  making  rods  and  flies  for  the  next  sum 
mer's  sport ;  Moloch  quaintly  carving  in  wood ;  Leo 
nora  busy  at  her  needlework  or  painting ;  and  all  three 
reading  a  great  deal. 

Before,  she  had  made  the  house  glad  with  mirth 
and  song;  now  all  was  very  quiet,  and  seldom  any 
one  spoke.  The  master  of  the  house  was  wrapped  up 
in  himself ;  the  girl  was  too  full  of  her  own  feelings, 
whatever  they  may  have  been ;  and  the  negro,  burst 
ing  with  questions  to  ask,  sympathy  to  give,  and  ad 
vice  to  offer,  must  perforce  hold  his  peace. 

Outside  the  wind  roared  in  the  forest,  the  branches 
groaned  and  cracked  and  crashed  in  the  storm,  and 

14 


210  LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISII 

masses  of  snow  and  rock  came  roaring  down  the  moun 
tains,,  and  the  voice  of  the  river  was  louder  than  ever 
in  its  icy  caverns. 

The  spring  came  with  soft,  warm  rains,  and  the  low 
places  in  the  valley  were  flooded  till  the  sun  dried 
them  again,  and  the  wild  beasts  betook  themselves  to 
the  mountains,  and  summer  was  come  again. 

So  the  seasons  passed,  and  the  years ;  and  the 
fourth  summer  found  the  three  still  in  the  valley,  and 
no  other  with  them. 


XXV 

0]S"E  day — a  hot,  sweet,  languid  day — when  all  the 
air  was  still,  and  the  innumerable  murmurs  of  the 
woods  were  faint ;  when  the  great  flies  buzzed  drow 
sily  about,  and  the  smoke  of  the  distant  fires  hung 
lifeless  on  the  dreamy  atmosphere,  Leonora  took  up 
her  rifle  and  went  out  into  the  cool  of  the  forest. 

Moloch  had  strained  his  arm  in  handling  a  slip 
pery  log,  and  she  went  to  gather  an  herb  of  which 
she  knew  that  grows  far  up  on  the  heights,  when  the 
heat  of  the  unhindered  sun.  and  the  freshness  of  the 
snow  blend  and  make  flowers  spring  among  crisp 
grasses  along  the  upland  pools.  She  passed  lightly 
up  the  elk-trail  that  led  over  the  wall  at  the  head  of 
the  valley  to  the  inner  range.  Another  of  those  high 
ways  of  the  forest  creatures,  leading  from  the  wood 
land  between  the  valley  and  the  sound,  joined  it  far 
up  on  the  heights. 

Leonora  climbed  steadily  on  till  she  came  out  of  the 
woods,  and  reached  one  of  those  broad  levels  that  lie 
beneath  the  peaks.  There  lay  a  little  pool  bright  in 
the  sun  ;  about  it  a  sweep  of  grassy  open,  hemmed 
in  by  the  curve  of  bluffs,  rocky  and  cavernous  and 
shaggy  with  massed  bushes  wherever  there  was  soil 
enough  to  give  them  life.  The  pool,  which  had 
dwindled  much  in  the  summer  heat,  had  a  broad  edge 
of  moist,  oozy  soil,  and  there  were  a  multitude  of 


212  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII 

tracks,  for  it  was  a  favorite  drinking-place  for  the 
beasts  that  inhabited  the  heights.  There  the  great 
cloven  elk's  hoof,  the  dainty  tread  of  mountain  deer, 
the  cougar's  round,  muscular  paw,  and  the  bears  foot, 
with  its  unpleasantly  human  aspect,  had  all  left  their 
traces ;  and  one  of  the  latter,  unusually  large,  greatly 
took  the  fancy  of  Leonora,  who  had  become,  in  the 
matter  of  ordinary  game,  the  least  bit  blase,  just  as 
any  other  girl  might  of  the  theatre,  sweets,  or  admi 
ration. 

Looking  carefully,  she  saw  where  the  grass  had 
been  crushed  under  the  broad  heel  and  torn  by  the 
savage  claws.  Apparently  the  creature  had  been  there 
for  his  morning  draught  that  very  day,  and  the  chances 
were  that  he  was  even  now  stripping  the  salmon-ber 
ries  from  the  thick  brush  somewhere  very  near,  for 
the  place  was  a  paradise  for  a  bear,  where  he  would 
be  likely  to  stay  long  unless  urgent  ursine  business 
should  have  called  him  elsewhere. 

She  wet  her  finger  in  the  pool  and  held  it  up  to  feel 
the  wind.  What  little  motion  the  air  had  came  down 
across  the  bridge — a  chance  favorable  to  her  approach 
in  case  the  wary  old  thief  should  be  in  hiding  there. 

The  keen  delight  of  hunting  took  possession  of  her  ; 
her  eyes  brightened,  an  eager  flush  came  to  her  face. 

She  threw  the  cartridge  of  her  Winchester  into 
place,  dropping  the  ejector  carefully,  to  make  as  little 
noise  as  might  be,  stood  a  moment  bending  slightly, 
with  lips  parted  and  shoulders  down,  the  right  fore 
finger  on  the  trigger  and  the  barrel  in  her  left  hand, 
and  stepped  softly  forward,  pausing  at  every  step  to 
look  and  listen,  and  stooping  low  to  peer  under  the 
bushes. 


LEONORA   OP   THE  YAWMISH  213 

She  had  skirted  the  base  of  the  ridge  without  suc 
cess  when  she  came  to  an  opening  in  the  bushes, 
which  she  knew  well  as  the  foot  of  a  beast's  trail.,  that 
led  up  to  a  broad  shelf  half-way  up  the  ridge,  where 
there  was  a  bare  patch  of  rock  surrounded  by  berry- 
bushes. 

"More  likely  there  than  anywhere,"  she  thought, 
and  the  trail,  scarred  with  the  bear's  claws,  confirmed 
the  idea ;  so  she  went  lightly  up  and  crouched  in  the 
thick  of  the  brush  at  the  edge  of  the  open — hardly 
breathing,  eager  and  keen,  ready  with  her  rifle,  with 
eyes  and  ears  straining  for  any  sight  or  sound  of  life. 
And  presently —  Was  it  the  wind  in  the  brush  ?  a 
stone  that  shifted  on  the  slope  ?  a  bunch  of  leaves 
that  fell?  a  trick  of  imagination?  There  it  was  again 
— and,  yes  !  again  —  just  across  the  clear  space  —  a 
rustling,  a  snapping  twig  or  two  —  the  noise  of  slow 
steps. 

Now  she  could  see  a  bush  move  ever  so  little,  and 
raised  her  rifle,  tempted  to  fire  at  the  place ;  then  bet 
ter  counsel  prevailed,  and  she  waited  to  see  a  vital  part 
of  her  game. 

She  crouched,  as  still  as  a  breathing  being  may  be, 
with  her  rifle  half-way  to  her  shoulder,  and  her  finger 
on  the  trigger. 

For  what  seemed  a  long  time  there  was  not  another 
sound  or  movement. 

At  last  (for  there  is  said  to  be  a  limit  to  almost 
every  woman's  patience)  Leonora  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  rose  to  one  knee,  and  took  aim  at  the  place 
where  she  had  last  heard  the  sound,  when  out  of  the 
bushes  on  the  other  side  came  a  tall  man  with  slouch 
ing  shoulders,  rough-bearded  and  uncouth,  stepping 


214  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

softly,  armed  and  ready.  She  rose,  and  as  she  did  so 
he  also  took  aim  as  if  at  her  ! 

The  two  stood  a  moment  still  with  their  rifles  at 
their  shoulders  and  their  fingers  on  the  triggers  ;  then 
they  lowered  their  arms.  "  Lord  save  us,  girl !  I 
tho't  ye  was  a  bar !"  cried  the  man,  and  burst  out 
laughing. 

The  ancient  peace  and  gravity  of  the  place  were 
broken  ;  the  echoes,  that  never  had  laughed  before, 
revelled  in  the  sound  and  tossed  it  from  rock  to  rock. 

Leonora,  however,  was  not  so  easily  amused.  She 
was  disappointed  about  the  bear  and  frightened,  part 
ly  at  having  so  nearly  shot  at  a  human  being,  partly 
at  having  so  nearly  been  shot  at,  and  also  at  the  man 
himself ;  for,  little  as  she  knew  of  people,  she  could 
see  well  enough  that  he  was  not  the  sort  of  man  one 
would  choose  to  meet  alone  in  a  lonesome  place. 

"  Wai,  Fm  damned  I"  was  his  next  remark,  and  he 
looked  it,  after  a  fashion. 

He  was  huge  and  bony  and  dirty ;  his  garb  faded 
and  weather-stained  to  the  color  of  the  brown  pine- 
needles  on  a  storm-beaten  slope  ;  bits  of  twigs  thrust 
through  the  cloth  took  the  place  of  buttons,  or  held 
together  the  edges  of  rents.  His  boots  also  were  a 
dull  rusty  brown,  and  all  broken  ;  and  from  one  of 
them  a  pair  of  toes  looked  out,  not  modestly  and  shy 
ly,  as  toes  are  wont,  but  with  an  air  of  bold  and  un 
becoming  disregard.  He  was  hatless,  and  his  un 
kempt  hair,  rusty  and  ragged  as  the  rest  of  his 
person,  hung,  like  long  strands  of  oakum,  to  his 
shoulders. 

"  Good  I  didn't  fire  blind  inter  th'  brush,  pretty 
girl !"  said  he.  "  I  was  nigh  doin'  it." 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  215 

6 '  So  was  I,"  said  she,  bravely  and  coolly,  and  almost 
wished  she  had  done  so  ;  for  he  frightened  her  terri 
bly,  coming  up  to  her  with  a  long,  slouching  step,  and 
knees  that  dipped  as  he  walked,  after  the  manner  of  a 
man  that  is  of  stealthy  habit. 

His  face  was  hard  and  bold  and  hollow-jawed,  and 
he  stood  near  and  stared  at  her  with  sharp,  hungry 
eyes  that  gloated  on  her  beauty. 

Girls,  it  is  said,  enjoy  being  appreciated,  and  even 
at  times  admired,  but  not  gloated  over ;  and  Leonora, 
who  never,  perhaps,  had  been  afraid  before  since  she 
was  a  little  child,  turned  and  ran  through  the  brush, 
headlong,  scratching  her  face  and  tearing  her  gown, 
till  she  tripped  in  a  place  where  the  rocks  were  many 
and  sharp  and  the  bushes  thick  between  them.  She 
had  left  the  hammer  of  her  rifle  up,  and  as  she  fell  it 
went  off. 

She  heard  the  man  crashing  after  her,  and  directly 
he  stood  by  her  side  and  grasped  her  hand  to  help  her 
rise. 

"  No  call  to  be  afeard  o'  me,  pretty  girl  I"  said  he, 
with  some  anger  in  his  voice,  swearing  (and  it  may  be 
well  to  say  here  that  he  always  swore  and  cursed,  and 
so  save  the  trouble  of  reproducing  the  many  varied 
and  hideous  expletives  of  which  he  was  master). 
Leonora  shrank  from  him  in  disgust  and  stood  Avith- 
out  his  help. 

The  men  in  the  wild  places  of  America  are,  as  a 
rule,  more  chivalrous  and  gentle  towards  woman, 
child,  and  weakling  than  their  more  civilized  breth 
ren  of  the  cities.  Nor  is  it  strange,  for  the  latter 
have  the  excuse  that  they  see  much  of  the  less  divine 
side  of  the  weaker  sex,  by  whom  they  are  sore  let  and 


216  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

hindered  in  the  streets,  the  cars,  and  the  elevators — 
places  in  which  the  divinity  of  woman  goes  veiled  and 
in  deep  disguise. 

They  are  men  in  a  hurry  ;  and  women  with  great 
umbrellas  and  long  sunshades,  women  with  trains 
and  enormous  hats,  women  with  bundles,  women  with 
children,  and,  worse  than  all,  women  with  questions, 
are  ever  in  the  way,  wasting  the  precious  hours  and 
moments  that  are  dollars  and  cents. 

But  the  men  of  the  great  plains,  of  the  backwoods, 
of  the  mountains  and  the  ranges,  whose  life  is  spent 
much  in  solitude  or  in  the  company  of  their  own  sex 
and  kind,  are  much  in  awe  of  woman  in  the  abstract, 
as  the  type  they  remember  of  all  that  is  best,  and 
in  which  their  own  lives  are  sadly  lacking.  When  she 
dawns  upon  them  in  person  it  is  with  all  the  dignity 
of  a  revelation. 

But  here  and  there  among  these  men  are  excep 
tions — among  them,  and  not  of  them ;  not  the  moun 
taineers  and  woodsmen  and  plainsmen,  but  outcasts, 
who  know  only  the  worst  of  life  and  of  the  commu 
nity  of  human  beings.  Perhaps  they  have  never  had 
anything  good  to  remember,  perhaps  they  have  ut 
terly  forgotten ;  but  to  them  the  world  is  a  feeding- 
ground  and  nought  else  —  everything  in  it  either  a 
prey  or  a  thing  to  be  feared,  according  to  its  strength 
or  weakness. 

It  may  be  that  the  man  Leonora  met  on  the  moun 
tain  was  one  of  these,  and,  if  instinct  is  to  trusted, 
that  may  account  for  the  fear  and  loathing  that  arose 
in  her  at  the  sight  of  him  and  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

"Now  I'm  goin'  ter  fergive  ye  fer  stampedin',  an7 
see  ye  safe  home,"  said  he,  and  his  voice  was  as  evil 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISII  217 

as  his  looks.  "  Ben  a  time  sence  I've  walked  home 
with  th'  girls,  an'  never  I  thought  ter  find  none 
here  I" 

He  chuckled  and  looked  sideways  at  Leonora,  who 
had  got  out  of  the  brush  and  went  on  without  look 
ing  back  at  him,  panting  from  her  running  and  fall 
and  fright ;  red  and  angry-eyed,  upright  and  stately, 
and  beautiful  beyond  all  telling. 

He  followed  her. 

"Are  yer  folks  livin'  hereabouts?"  he  inquired. 
"  Mebbe  they  could  put  a  man  up  for  a  while.  I'd 
pay  fer  lodgin'  and  find  my  own  grub.  I  hain't  ben 
under  a  roof  fer  -  -  knows  how  long,  an'  gettin' 
kinder  sick  er  my  own  coinp'ny." 

"  I  should  think  you  might,"  said  Leonora,  turn 
ing  on  him.  "  No,  my  people  won't  take  you  in.  Go 
your  way,  and  I'll  go  mine  !" 

"Wai!    That  beats !"  said  the  stranger.    "But 

I'll  see  ye  home  anyways.  Yer  too  pretty  ter  be  let 
run  loose  around  in  these  yer  woods  —  sposin'  th'  bar 
sh'd  git  ye  ?" 

Leonora  had  passed  beyond  mere  annoyance  and 
fear,  and  was  growing  cool  and  pale  now  as  she  got 
her  breath,  with  a  dangerous  kind  of  wrath. 

Her  only  answer  was  to  pump  another  cartridge 
into  the  chamber  of  her  rifle,  and  hold  it  ready  with 
the  barrel  near  the  breech  in  her  left  hand  and  her 
finger  on  the  trigger,  and  a  look  in  her  eyes  that 
stopped  him,  foot  and  tongue. 

She  turned  her  back  and  walked  away,  upright  and 
alert,  past  the  pool  and  down  the  trail,  with  an  easy 
step,  disdaining  further  notice,  but  listening  to  every 
step  he  took. 


218  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

There  was  an  appearance  of  readiness  about  her 
elbows  and  shoulders  that  affected  him  unpleasantly. 
The  fellow  watched  her  with  an  ugly  expression, 
but  did  not  follow  till  she  had  passed  out  of  sight. 
There  was  a  place  were  the  elk- trail  forked,  and  one 
branch  went  right  down  into  the  valley. 

The  elk,  the  only  engineers  and  road-builders  of 
the  mountains,  not  liking  the  Willoughbys  as  winter 
neighbors  in  their  visits  to  the  lowlands,  nor  caring 
to  go  much  to  the  valley  since  their  arrival,  had  let 
this  path  get  out  of  use  and  repair  and  had  made 
another,  passing  in  a  wide  curve  along  the  slope  to 
another  good  pasture  of  which  they  knew,  where 
there  were  no  girls  with  guns,  no  blackamoors  armed 
with  long  knives  and  frying-pans  to  cut  them  up  and 
salt  them  down,  no  old  white-bearded  gentlemen  to 
fright  them  as  they  came  down  by  the  river  and  eat 
them  before  they  could  go  home  again.  This  branch 
of  the  trail  was  well  broken  into  dust  by  their  sharp 
hoofs. 

Leonora,  at  the  forks,  gave  one  glance  behind  her, 
and  followed  the  newer  branch,  taking  good  care  to 
tread  firmly  at  first,  so  as  to  leave  her  dainty  tracks  in 
the  brown  dust,  and  afterwards  stepping  more  lightly 
or  walking  a  little  off  the  path  when  it  was  possible, 
that  they  might  appear  less  often,  by  degrees,  till 
finally  she  came  to  rocky  ground,  where  no  tracks 
could  be  left. 

Here  she  turned  into  the  woods,  and  hid  in  the  un 
dergrowth  till  the  stranger,  who  had  followed  her 
tracks  as  she  had  supposed  he  would,  came  by.  She 
could  see  him  from  her  hiding-place  as  he  passed  at 
a  dog-trot,  bending  forward  to  see  the  trail,  with  his 


LEONORA  OP   THE  YAWMISH  219 

ugly  face  all  in  a  grin.  When  he  was  out  of  hearing 
she  ran  back,  taking  care  to  leave  no  tracks  this  time, 
soon  reached  home  by  the  old  path,  and  threw  herself 
down  on  a  lounge  with  a  faintness  she  had  never 
known  before.  As  she  thought  the  matter  over,  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  had  been  very  foolish  in  run 
ning  away,  and  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  her  fear. 
The  man  was  repulsive,  to  be  sure ;  but  he  had  not 
done  or  said  anything  to  alarm  her.  He  had  been 
rude  and  uncouth — that  was  all.  It  was  surely  nat 
ural  enough  that  a  man  alone  in  the  forest  and  find 
ing  he  had  neighbors,  should  wish  to  know  them.  It 
could  not  be  thought  that  he  would  not  make  every 
endeavor  to  do  so.  As  for  his  following  her,  he  evi 
dently  knew  no  better.  She  told  herself  that  if  he 
had  not  been  such  a  repulsive  -  looking  fellow  she 
would  not  have  been  frightened  ;  that  his  appearance 
was  not  his  fault,  perhaps ;  and  that  she  had  treated 
him  in  a  very  uncharitable  manner,  and  blamed  her 
self.  Nevertheless,  when  the  image  of  him  running 
by,  as  she  had  seen  him,  occurred  to  her  she  felt  a 
fear  that  would  not  yield  to  reasoning.  She  told  Mo 
loch,  while  she  bound  up  his  hand  with  the  fresh 
leaves.  He  showed  a  great  deal  of  white  eyeball,  and 
a  kind  of  faint  purplish  tint  came  into  his  usual 
blackness ;  also,  she  felt  the  muscles  twitch  in  his 
great  forearms.  But  he  only  said,  "Wish  ma  hand 
was  well,  Miss  'Nora."  She  told  Mr.  Willoughby. 

"So!"  he  said,  angrily,  "no  peace  from  sweet 
humanity  even  here  !  We  must  find  means  to  make 
him  go,  if  he  stays  about.  Solitude  is  too  precious  a 
thing  to  lose."  Then  he  laughed  a  little.  "So  he 
didn't  see  you  home  ?"  said  he.  "  A  Winchester  is  no 


220  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

bad  chaperon  for  a  young  maid.  None  better.  But, 
even  so,  you  must  not  stray  from  home  again  for 
a  while.  However,  I  dare  say  we  shall  see  no  more  of 
him." 


XXVI 

FOR  the  next  few  days  Leonora  stayed  at  home  and 
helped  her  crippled  butler  with  the  housework.  Her 
fears  passed  easily  away.  Nothing  was  seen  of  the 
stranger,  though  once  she  thought  she  heard  the  re 
port  of  a  rifle  far  away. 

On  the  sixth  day  she 'was  splitting  kindling-wood 
at  the  back  of  the  house,  when  her  father  and  Moloch 
heard  her  give  a  faint  cry,  and  came  out. 

"  There  he  is — now  he's  gone  !"  she  said. 

"  That  man  ?"  said  her  father,  and  he  and  Moloch 
went  towards  the  place  she  pointed  out — a  gap  in  the 
woods — but  though  they  sought  a  long  time  they 
could  find  no  one. 

"  I'd  like  to  catch  that  fellow  !  I'd  send  him  about 
his  business !"  said  Mr.  Willoughby. 

"  Yo'  be'n  up  early,  Miss  'Nora !"  was  Moloch's  greet 
ing  to  her  next  day.  "You  ought'n'  to  done  so,  ef 
you'll  excuse  man  sayin'  it  so  plain,  Miss  'Nora.  / 
can  split  kin'lin's  well  enough — an'  it  ain't  the  kind 
of  work  for  yo'  pretty  han's,  Miss  'Nora." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Moloch?  /  haven't  been 
splitting  wood  this  morning.  I'm  just  up  !"  said 
Leonora. 

"  Then  it  mus'  ha'  been  Mr.  Willoughby.  I  wouldn't 
'a'  thought  it  of  him,"  said  Moloch.  "I  take  it  real 
kind  in  him — but  he  needn'  to  V  done  it." 


222  LEONOHA   OF   THE  YAWMISH 

But  Mr.  Willoughby  denied  all  knowledge  of  kind 
lings  and  refuted  the  interpretation  of  early  rising. 

Here  was  a  strange  thing  :  Moloch  had  found  a 
large  pile,  newly  split,  by  the  kitchen  door. 

"It's  that  man  again,"  said  Leonora.  "He  saw 
me  chopping  yesterday.  And  he  must  have  come  and 
done  this  to  show  that  he  wished  us  well  and  meant 
to  be  neighborly." 

"  Confound  him  for  his  pains  !"  said  Mr.  Willough 
by,  "and  damn  all  neighbors  I" 

"  Hush,  father  !"  said  the  girl.  "  I  dare  say  he 
means  well.  But  he  is  so  frightful  and  hideous.  I 
wish  he'd  stay  away." 

"How  'd  ever  he  do  it  without  wakin'  anybody  ?" 
said  Moloch,  and,  looking  carefully,  found  a  long  mark 
on  the  ground,  like  that  of  a  broad  wheel. 

Now  Moloch  kept  on  hand  a  supply  of  sections  of 
fir  trunk,  cylinders  of  a  foot  in  thickness  and  three 
or  four  feet  across,  and  the  mark  was  of  one  of  those 
which  had  been  turned  on  its  side  and  rolled  along 
the  ground.  Following  the  track,  he  came  to  a  place 
near  the  river  where  the  noise  of  the  rushing  water 
would  have  drowned  the  sound  of  the  axe,  and  there 
were  chips  and  bits  of  bark  on  the  trampled  grass. 
The  stranger  had  taken  the  wood  there  in  bulk,  car 
ried  it  back  split  to  the  door,  and  carefully  piled 
it, 

"He  saw  Miss  'Nora  chopping  an'  he  done  it  as  a 
kind  a'  hint  to  her  he'd  like  to  work  for  her,"  said 
Moloch  to  himself.  "'Pears  like  he  darin'  to  think 
he  'spire  to  be  in  love  with  Miss  'Nora." 

Two  days  later  afresh  haunch  of  venison  was  found 
in  the  morning  lying  at  the  door. 


LEONORA  OF  THE   YAWMISII  223 

' e  Take  it  away  and  throw  it  into  the  river,"  said 
Leonora. 

"  I  am  not  sure/'  said  Mr.  Willoughby.  "While  the 
human  creature  is  not  to  be  desired  as  a  companion,, 
it  is  sometimes  indirectly  useful.  One  does  not  hold 
intimate  converse  with  the  wolf  or  seek  its  friendship, 
but  one  need  not  on  that  account  refuse  its  hide. 
When  anything,  however  small,  is  to  be  gained  from 
humanity,  why,  gain  it,  as  a  rule.  Nevertheless,  Mo 
loch,  do  as  Miss  Leonora  tells  you.  Chuck  it  into  the 
river,  but  first  chop  it  up  and — you  know  the  big 
pool  just  below  the  canon  ?  Bait  that  pool  with  the 
meat." 

That  night  Moloch  watched  by  the  kitchen  door, 
but  no  one  came. 

He  watched  again  the  night  after,  determined  to 
have  a  word  with  the  persistent  benefactor,  and  just 
before  dawn,  when  the  mountains  were  dimly  seen,  a 
mass  of  deeper  darkness  against  the  dark  sky — all  but 
the  highest  peak,  that  was  beginning  to  glow — and  a 
few  faint  stars  hung  above  them,  he  heard  a  step  com 
ing  cautiously  into  the  clearing,  and  the  stranger  ap 
peared  out  of  the  dusk.  When  he  was  very  near  Mo 
loch  spoke. 

"  Mornin',  sah.     Yo'  out  early  this  morniii'  !" 

The  man  took  a  step  back,  startled  by  the  unex 
pectedness  of  Moloch. 

"Are  yo'  the  gentleman  that's  been  so  kind  as  to 
come  an7  split  some  kinlin's  an7  leave  a  leg  o'  deer  ?" 

The  butler  spoke  suavely  and  with  respect. 

"  Why,  yes  !  You're  right,  friend  !  It's  me  !"  said 
the  stranger. 

"  It  was  kind  in  you,  sah.     But  it  was  kindness 


224  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

frown  away.  I  had  ordahs  to  frow  it  in  the  ribbah, 
an'  I  did.  Yo'  see,  sir,  my  employah  isn't  in  the  habit 
o'  takin'  gifts  from  nobody.  What  he  likes  is  fo'  folks 
to  let  him  alone.  I'm  perfeckly  competent  to  split 
all  the  wood  an'  git  all  the  game,  without  troublin' 
a  stranger,  sah.  An'  kind  as  my  employah  takes  it  in 
you,  sah,  to  cut  up  wood  an'  bring  him  meat,  he'll 
take  it  kinder  yet  if  you  was  to  go  off  an'  not  come 
roun'  here  any  more,  sah — 

"Look  here,  nigger,  who  told  you  to  say  all  them 
words  ?"  the  stranger  asked. 

"Nobody,  sah;  but  I've  general  an'  permanent  au 
thority  to  negotiate  with  trespassahs  with  a  view  to 
havin'  'em  stay  away,"  said  Moloch,  "an'  my  em 
ployah,  he  regards  all  persons  comin'  roun'  here  as 
trespassahs." 

"  Wai,  then,  blackie,  you  c'n  tell  yer  boss  I  didn't 
cut  no  wood  for  him  nor  bring  no  game  for  Uim,  nor 
yet  don't  mean  ter.  I  done  it  fer  th'  girl  as  lives 
yere — ari>  shall  do  as  much  an'  more.  If  I  like  ter 
bring  game  yere  I  bring  it,  an'  if  I  like  ter  split  wood 
yere  I  split  it.  These  woods  is  jest  as  much  mine  as 
his'n,  an'  I  don't  take  my  orders  from  no  nigger,  I 
don't  keer  how  black  he  is— not  if  he's  as  black  as  the 
devil !" 

"Complexion,"  said  Moloch — "complexion,  sah,  am 
a  mattah  ob  taste,  and  has  no  bearin's  on  the  present 
discussion.  All  I  say  is,  yo'  kine  intentions  am  dis- 
appreciated  an'  yo'  presence  am  unnecessary.  As  a 
man  of  sense,  yo'  ain't  agoin'  to  bring  good  game  to 
be  frowed  in  the  ribbah,  nor  yet  to  come  aroun'  where 
yo'  isn'  wanted.  Good-mornin',  sah;"  and  Moloch 
went  into  the  house  and  shut  the  door  behind  him. 


LEONORA  OF  THE   YAWMISH  225 

The  stranger  stood  awhile  rubbing  his  beard  and 
staring  at  the  house,  and  finally  turned  and  sauntered 
away. 

Moloch  had  been  right  in  supposing  that  the  veni 
son  and  kindlings  had  been  intended  as  love-offerings 
to  Leonora  —  the  one,  perhaps,  to  kindle,  the  other 
to  feed,  a  reciprocal  feeling  on  her  part.  Doubtless 
the  stranger  is  open  to  the  charge  of  being  precip 
itate  in  manifesting  his  sentiments,  however  they  may 
have  done  credit  to  his  taste  and  discrimination.  But 
then  his  excuse  was  in  his  circumstances. 

He  was  one  upon  whom  society  may  be  said  to  have 
had  a  stronger  claim  than  upon  most  men,  yet  he  had 
left  it  for  its  good  and  his  own.  The  exigencies  of 
his  profession,  which  was  that  of  obtaining  a  living 
by  any  means  whatever  except  legitimate  work,  had 
driven  him  away,  and  society  was  still  seeking,  by 
means  of  her  sheriffs  and  deputies,  to  bring  him  back 
to  her  maternal  arms. 

After  a  season  of  lonely  wandering  he  had  met  Le 
onora,  and,  being  no  less  susceptible  than  another,  in 
his  own  way,  had  fallen  a  ready  prey  to  her  beauty. 

He  was  deeply  imbued  with  the  opinion,  beloved 
of  the  American  blackguard  and  ignoramus,  that  "all 
men  are  born  free  and  equal " ;  from  which  he  deduces 
the  idea  that  he,  personally,  is  as  good  as  any,  and 
better  than  most. 

Therefore  this  particular  vagabond,  knowing  of  no 
distinction  in  breeding,  manner,  and  habit  of  life, 
saw  no  reason,  since  it  appeared  that  he  and  Leonora 
were  neighbors,  why  they  should  not  become  friends 
and  more. 

If  he   saw  a  difference   between   her  and   such   a 

15 


226  LEONORA   OP   THE   YA.WMISH 

woman  as  those  to  whom  he  had  been  accustomed, 
it  was  only  that  she  was  infinitely  more  attractive, 
and  so  infinitely  more  to  be  desired. 

So  he  determined  to  settle  near  her  home  and  win 
,her,  not  knowing  why  he  should  be  unsuccessful,  nor 
why  one  settler  should  not  be  a  fair  match  for  the 
daughter  of  another. 

He  knew  that  he  was  ugly,  and  was  proud  of  it ; 
also  that  he  was  strong  and  large  of  stature,  and  that 
women  care  more  for  strength  than  beauty  in  a  man. 
He  thought  that  he  was  a  good  shot  and  an  expert 
trapper— what  more  could  a  backwoods  girl  want  in 
a  husband  ?  He  reconnoitred  the  valley,  and  found 
that  the  cabin  was  the  only  one  there.  He  watched 
the  place,  took  stock  of  Moloch  and  Mr.  Willoughby, 
began  his  wooing  with  the  friendly  advances  to  which 
Moloch  had  taken  exception,  and  hung  about  in  the 
cover,  hungry  for  a  sight  of  Leonora. 

Now,  Moloch's  warning  encouraged  him  greatly, 
for  he  said  to  himself,  "If  that  old  feller  in  there 
the  nigger  calls  his  '  employer '  is  so  shy  o'  strangers 
he's  got  a  reason  for  it,  and  there  can't  be  but  one — 
same  as  mine. 

"  If  he'll  listen  to  reason,  me  an'  him  can  pull 
together  first-class. 

"  He  needs  a  young  feller  about  to  help  run  the 
ranch  an'  stand  by  him  in  case  o'  trouble,  an'  I'm  the 
feller  !  He'll  be  glad  ter  git  me  when  he  sees  I  ain't 
one  to  give  him  away.  There  ain't  no  reason  but 
what,  ef  I  work  the  thing  right,  I  shouldn't  be  able 
to  make  it  go.  My  act  is  to  stand  in  with  the  old 
bird,  make  his  acquaintance,  shake  his  hand,  let  him 
know  he  ain't  got  no  thin'  ter  fear  from  me,  do  his  odd 


LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISH  227 

jobs  fer  him,  give  him  a  hide  or  a  hunk  o'  meat  now 
and  then,  and  be  good  to  him. 

"I'll  build  me  a  shack  up-stream  thar  whar  they's 
a  nateral  clearin' — whar  th'  fish  is  swarmin'  in  th' 
water  an'  th'  deer  runnin'  by,  an'  old  bars  eatin.' 
huckleberries  off'n  th'  rocks  over  th'  back  yard — an' 
I'll  be  his  best  an'  only  friend. 

"The  girl,  she'll  take  ter  me  quick  enough  when 
she  gits  ter  know  me — bein'  the  only  man  about,  an' 
a  hearty  one  at  that. 

"It's  a  dead  easy  thing — an'  in  a  year,  or  mebbe 
less,  sure  as  my  name's  Andy  Jimson,  I'm  in  clover. 
That's  what  !  And  the  girl's  mine."  Which,  as  his 
name  was  Andy  Jimson,  augured  ill  for  the  peace  of 
Leonora. 

"  I'll  lay  for  the  old  man  an'  have  a  talk  with  him," 
said  Jimson. 

Mr.  Willoughby  was  easily  found  by  the  river.  He 
was  sitting  and  thinking  his  own  thoughts,  which,  as 
we  know,  were  by  no  means  complimentary  to  his 
fellow-men,  to  begin  with,  when  a  large  stone  fell 
splashing  into  his  favorite  pool  and  sent  his  pet  trout 
darting  to  shelter.  The  disturbance  had  been  caused 
by  Jimson,  who  was  to  be  seen,  much  to  the  old  gentle 
man's  wrath,  clumsily  descending  the  opposite  bank. 

"Keep  away,  will  you!"  said  Mr.  Willoughby, 
angrily.  But  the  intruder  gave  no  heed,  and,  crossing 
where  the  stream  ran  shallow  among  the  stones,  soon 
stood  by  his  side. 

Mr.  Willoughby  got  up,  and  the  two  men  stared  at 
each  other  a  moment — the  one  with  the  mien  of  him 
who  sees  a  trespasser  disporting  him'se'lf  upon  his 
lawn  ;  the  other  with  curiosity. 


228  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

"  What  do  you  want  here  ?"  said  Mr.  Willoughby. 

' '  How  are  ye  ?"  said  the  stranger,  extending  his 
foul  paw,  of  which  the  old  gentleman  took  no  notice. 

"  I  have  not  had  a  diagnosis  lately  and  cannot  give 
you  the  information  you  are  so  good  as  to  seek.  / 
asked  what  you  wanted  here  f 

Jimson  did  not  quite  understand  the  words;  the 
manner  was  clear  enough,  but  he  was  not  to  be  put  out 
by  that,  at  the  beginning  of  his  undertaking. 

He  shifted  his  pose  to  the  other  foot,  and  looked 
sulky.  "  Fishin'?"  he  asked. 

"No.  Hunting  elk!"  said  Mr.  Willoughby.  "Is 
that  all  you  wanted  to  know  ?" 

"There's  a  heap  sight  more  Fd  like  to  know/'  said 
the  vagabond.  "  Live  about  here  ?" 

"  What  business  is  that  of  yours  ?"  said  Mr.  Wil 
loughby. 

Now!!  the  evident  wrath  of  the  old  gentleman  at 
being  addressed,  and  his  unwillingness  to  answer 
civil  questions,  could  have  but  one  interpretation  in 
the  vagabond's  mind,  and  strengthened  his  original 
opinion  that  Mr.  Willoughby  was  in  hiding,  like  him 
self,  from  the  just  vengeance  of  the  law.  This  gave 
him  a  fellow-feeling. 

"  I  don't  mean  you  no  hurt  by  askin',"  said  he.  "  I 
lead  a  kinder  quiet  life  here,  and  like  ter  know  my 
neighbors." 

"  How  the  devil  should  I  know  about  your  neigh 
bors  !"  cried  the  old  gentleman.  "  Go  and  ask  them!" 

"I  reckon  you're  about  all  there  be,"  said  Jimson. 
"You  and  yer  folks.  Leastways,  I  hain't  seen  no 
others.  I've  settled  here  for  a  bit,  an'  my  camp  is 
just  up  the  river  near  the  gap." 


LEONORA  OP   THE  YAWMISH  229 

This  was  more  than  Mr.  Willoughby  could  bear.  A 
stranger — and  such  a  stranger — in  his  valley  !  To  be 
sure,  it  was  no  more  his  valley,  in  fact,  than  another's. 
But  Mr.  Willoughby,  during  his  many  years  of  undis 
puted  possession,  had  come  to  regard  it  as  his  own, 
and  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  doubt  his  right  to 
turn  out  trespassers.  In  short,  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
counting  himself  "monarch,  of  all  he  surveyed/'  for 
getting  entirely  that  he  had  never  surveyed  it,  and 
that  a  survey  accepted  by  the  State,  accompanied  by  a 
claim  filed  in  the  Land-office,  was  necessary  ere  he 
could  call  it  his  own. 

"  Look  here,  my  man,"  said  he,  "  I  want  no  neigh 
bors.  I'm  not  accustomed  to  argue.  Get  out  of  this  !" 

"I've  got  as  good  right  ter  be  here  ez  you,"  said 
Jimson. 

"Name  your  price  and  clear  out,"  said  Mr.  Wil 
loughby. 

Jimson  laughed.  "Some  day  maybe  I'll  make  a 
deal  with  you,"  said  he.  "Jest  now  I  got  my  rea 
sons,  like  you  have,  fer  stayin'  where  money  ain't  so 
much  good  as  leaves  off  the  trees.  An7  now  look  a,' 
here.  I  come  here  an'  talk  white  an'  civil  ter  you, 
an'  you  up  an'  answer  me  mean  an'  say,  '  Clear  out !' 
Tha's  all  right ;  I  ain't  kickin'  at  that,  'cause  I  see 
how  yer  fixed.  When  a  feller's  layin'  low  an'  keepin' 
out  er  th'  way,  ez  me  and  you  be,  he  don't  like  ter  hev 
no  one  come  snoopin'  round.  His  fust  thought,  when 
he  sees  a  man,  is  :  '  Is  that  chap  a  deputy-sheriff,  an' 
is  he  after  me  ?'  That's  likely  what  you're  thinkin' 
'bout  me  now.  Wai,  make  yerself  easy.  I  ain't  no 
deputy,  an'  I'm  keepin'  out  er  their  way  too.  I  dunno 
what  you  done  back  in  th'  States,  or  wherever  you 


230  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

come  from,  but,  judgin'  from  the  way  ye  keep  in  the 
woods,  I  reckon  t'warn't  nothin'  short  o'  burglary  ; 
an',  what's  more,  I  don't  keer.  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  put 
no  one  on  yer  track.  Now,  you're  a-livin'  all  alone 
with  a  nigger  air  a  gal,  an'  I'm  all  sole  alone.  I  kin 
mebbe  be  useful  to  ye  an'  you  ter  me.  My  camp's 
up  th'  river.  Ef  yer  want  anythin'  done,  jest  let  me 
know ;  an'  I  hope  ter  see  a  lot  more  er  you  an'  yer 
folks,  an'  I  shall  alwers  treat  ye  white.  Now  we  know 
each  other." 

Mr.  AVilloughby  by  this  time  was  too  wroth  to  speak. 
He  aimed  a  furious  blow  at  the  obliging  stranger,  but 
was  slow  and  stiff,  and  Jimson  dodged  it  and  passed 
on,  laughing  and  saying,  "  I  don't  fight  with  old  fellers 
like  you  be." 

Now,  it  was  not  Mr.  Willoughby's  age  that  prevent 
ed  Jimson  from  returning  the  blow — he  had  no  such 
scruples.  "I'm  willin'  ter  be  friends  wi'  th'  girl's 
folks,  ef  they'll  let  me,  while  I'm  a-makin'  up  ter  her. 
They  may  come  handy.  But  ef  they  will  quarrel  an' 
make  me  kill  'em  off,  th'  old  man  an'  th'  nigger,  what's 
ter  pervent  me  hevin'  her  an'  th'  hull  outfit  all  ter 
myself  ?" 

After  that  he  became  persistent  in  his  attentions. 
He  kept  011  bringing  offerings  to  the  door,  and  was 
often  seen  near  the  clearing. 

Mr.  Willoughby's  wrath  increased  as  he  realized  his 
helplessness.  He  could  not  invoke  the  law.  Doubt 
less  the  man  was  a  criminal ;  but  even  if  the  authori 
ties  were  looking  for  him,  and  even  if  they  could  be 
persuaded  to  send  out  so  far  on  a  wild  -  goose  chase 
after  him,  Mr.  Willoughby  would  not  have  his  valley 
invaded  by  a  posse  comitatus. 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YA.WMISH  231 

Nor  would  he  resort  to  unlawful  means.  But  lie 
and  Moloch  both  devoutly  hoped  that  occasion  might 
arise  when  it  would  become  necessary  and  justifiable 
to  shoot  the  intruder. 

And  Leonora  —  though  she  would  on  no  account 
have  wished  any  one  ill  —  would  not  have  heard  the 
news  of  his  demise  with  any  deep  regret. 

It  is  bad  enough  (they  say)  to  have  an  unwelcome 
and  obstinate  suitor  at  all.  Under  the  circumstances 
it  was  a  nightmare. 

He  left  her  in  no  doubt  of  his  intentions,,  for  he 
had  succeeded  one  day  in  waylaying  her  on  the  trail 
near  the  clearing  as  she  went  to  gather  violets,  and 
assured  her  of  his  devotion  in  lurid  terms. 

She  had  then  spoken  gently  with  him,  and  tried  to 
explain  the  hopelessness  of  the  case  to  his  satisfac 
tion. 

He  had  taken  her  refusal  as  a  matter  of  course,  al 
leging  that  he  thought  none  the  worse  of  her  for 
being  shy  at  first — a  customary  and  becoming  trait  in 
woman — but  that  he  did  not  give  up  hope  and  meant 
to  succeed  in  time.  She  had  argued  patiently,  and 
he  had  grinned.  She  had  tried  the  effect  of  bitter 
words,  and  he  had  said  that  he  liked  a  girl  none  the 
less  for  a  sharp  tongue,  and  finally  she  had  gone  home 
to  Moloch,  who,  forgetting  his  lame  arm,  had  set  out 
straightway  in  search  of  Mr.  Jimson  and  had  not 
found  him. 

She  persuaded  Moloch  not  to  quarrel  with  him,  for 
the  butler's  hurt  placed  him  at  great  disadvantage  — 
the  man  seemed  a  desperado  —  and  "if  anything 
should  happen  to  you,  Moloch,"  said  she,  "what 
would  become  of  my  father  and  me  ?" 


232  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

Then  one  day  Moloch  went  to  the  sound,  taking 
her  with  him,  well  armed — for  he  would  hardly  let 
her  out  of  his  sight — and  there  she  received  the  letter 
from  Moorhead  and  left  the  answer  that  Tom  found 
at  Seattle,  saying  that  she  needed  him  and  bidding 
him  come  at  once. 


XXVII 

THOMAS  MOORHEAD  arrived  at  the  month  of  the 
Yawmish,  and  had  to  find  his  way  thence  as  best 
he  could.  There  he  dropped  his  first  name,  to  be 
Norman  Moorhead  like  his  brother,  slung  his  pack, 
shouldered  his  rifle,  and  set  out  to  follow  the  course 
of  the  stream  as  the  only  sure  way  of  reaching  the 
valley. 

The  banks  of  the  river  were  pathless  and  hard  of 
passage,  and  the  traveller  made  but  slow  progress. 
The  river  was  his  only  guide,  and  he  never  allowed 
himself  to  go  beyond  the  sound  of  its  voice,  even  to 
avoid  the  obstacles  that  sometimes  rendered  its  banks 
almost  impassable,  but  took  the  country  as  he  found 
it,  toiling  on  over  rough  and  rocky  hills,  whose  stones 
bruised  his  feet  even  through  the  thickness  of  his 
heavy  boots  ;  through  dense  brush  that  seemed  al 
most  to  stifle  him  in  its  damp  and  heavy  foliage,  or 
tore  and  pricked  him  with  thorns  and  brambles  ;  up 
slopes  that  were  slippery  with  the  dry  and  smoothly 
matted  needles ;  on  welcome  stretches  of  clear  low 
land,  or  along  the  edge  of  a  precipice  up  among 
the  laurels,  with  the  river  hundreds  of  feet  below  ; 
through  places  where  the  trees  had  fallen  and  massed 
their  enormous  bodies  and  locked  limbs  in  tangled 
heaps ;  down  deep  ravines,  where  tributary  streams 
crossed  the  way  up  and  down,  in  and  out ;  he  climbed 


234  LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH 

and  slid,  and  walked  and  ran,  waded,  swam,  and  scram 
bled,  and  felt  his  pack  grow  heavier  hour  by  hour  as 
his  unaccustomed  shoulders  turned  sore  under  the 
chafing  straps.  His  heavy  boots,  stiff  with  frequent 
wetting  and  drying,  formed  thick  creases  that  pressed 
and  galled  his  ankles. 

At  night  he  made  his  fire,  ate,  and  threw  himself 
down  wherever  darkness  happened  to  overtake  him, 
and  dreamed  strange  dreams  that  ended  in  a  sense  of 
rolling  down  steep  places  into  the  water.  He  saw  no 
sign  of  life,  except  a  flock  of  the  ' '  meat-birds  "  that  fol 
low  men  about  the  woods  for  the  offal  of  their  game. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  he  came  to  a 
well-defined  trail  beside  the  river,  and  by  afternoon 
found  himself  rounding  the  base  of  a  high  hill,  which, 
he  could  see  by  a  glimpse  here  and  there,  was  the  end 
of  a  long  range.  Another  range  stood  parallel  to  this, 
and  between  them  the  river  flowed  in  a  fair  land  of 
alternate  wood  and  meadow,  out  of  a  gap  between 
towering  mountains,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  in  the 
valley  where  he  was  to  meet  the  mistress  he  had  never 
seen  and  claim  the  bride  he  had  never  won.  Should 
he  meet  her  ?  What  was  she  like  ?  Beautiful,  of 
course,  but  how?  Would  she  really  mistake  him  for 
his  brother  ?  Why  not  ?  How  would  she  receive  him  ? 
What  had  been  the  need  that  had  made  her  urge  him 
to  come  to  her  at  once  ? 

As  he  asked  himself  these  questions,  impatience 
overcame  his  weariness,  and  he  went  on  painfully, 
limping  away  at  a  fair  pace. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  he  came  to  the  clearing 
and  saw  the  house  in  its  pleasant  garden,  and  an  old 
man  and  young  girl  sitting  on  the  veranda. 


LEONORA  OP   THE  YAWMISH  235 

Now,  up  to  this  time  his  strange  undertaking  had 
seemed  to  him  a  sort  of  game  to  be  played  and  en 
joyed.  The  moment  he  saw  Leonora  he  began  to  feel 
the  reality  and  seriousness  of  what  he  was  doing.  His 
heart  almost  failed  him.  He  yielded  to  a  sudden  im 
pulse  and  turned  back ;  then  he  laughed  at  the  futility 
of  it.  "  What  am  I  turning  round  for  ?"  he  thought. 
"To  go  home?  I  would  if  I  could.  I  only  wish  I 
were  well  out  of  this.  But  it's  too  late  now — so  here 
goes." 

The  people  on  the  veranda  did  not  see  him  as  he 
came  up.  Leonora  was  reading  aloud,,  and  Tom  heard 
with  pleasure  the  sweet  cadence  of  her  voice  and  the 
delicate  accent  of  her  words  : 

"With  me  upon  this  strip  of  verdure  strewn 

That  just  divides  the  desert  from  the  sown, 
Where  name  of  slave  and  sultan  is  forgot — 
And  peace  to  Mahmoud,  on  his  golden  throne. 

"A  book  of  verses  underneath  the  bough, 

A  loaf  of  bread,  a  jug  of  wine,  and  thoti 
Beside  me,  singing  in  the  wilderness — 
Ah,  wilderness  were  paradise  enow  !" 

"  So  I  should  think,  even  without  the  '  jug  of  wine/" 
said  Tom,  pleasantly.  He  had  mustered  up  all  his 
courage,  since  there  was  no  turning  back,  and  had 
determined  to  face  the  matter  out  coolly. 

The  girl  sprang  up,  and  her  father  rose  slowly  and 
looked  puzzled- and  vexed. 

Mr.  Moorhead  again,  I  think,  is  it  not  ?"  said  he, 
with  no  warmth  of  greeting  in  his  manner.  "May  I 
ask—" 

But  here  Leonora,  feeling  that  her  father  was  about 


236  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

to  say  something  disagreeable,  interrupted  him  and 
came  forward,  holding  out  her  hand. 

"Oh!  father,"  said  she,  "how  very  good  that  your 
friend  has  come  !" 

"I  don't  see  it!"  said  Mr.  Willoughby,  in  a  very 
audible  undertone.  "  My  friend!" 

"  Best,"  said  Leonora,  giving  Tom  a  chair.  "  I  will 
come  back  in  a  moment.  Father  I" 

She  took  the  old  gentleman  by  the  arm  and  led  him 
into  the  house. 

"Father,"  she  said,  "what  could  be  better  ?  Ask  your 
friend  to  stay ;  for  surely  at  such  a  time  as  this,  with 
that  creature  lurking  about,  I  cannot  well  have  a 
friend  too  many,  and  Mr.  Moorhead  has  been  your 
guest  and  is  a  gentleman.  Ask  him  to  stay,  for  my 
sake,  father  dear  ;  you  don't  know  how  good  it  is  to 
me,  after  all  that  has  happened,  to  see  a  pleasant  face." 

"  It  may  be  you  are  right,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby. 
It's  a  pity — a  great  pity.  But  I  am  old,  and  Moloch 
is  still  lame  of  his  arm,  and  a  young  man  who  knows 
our  ways  may  be  of  use,  especially  if  it  makes  you  feel 
more  easy,  Leonora." 

So  in  a  minute  he  came  out  to  Moorhead  and  greet 
ed  him  with  courtesy  :  "  Mr.  Moorhead,  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  again,  and  Miss  Willoughby  and  I  hope  you 
can  make  it  convenient  to  stay  with  us  awhile." 

"Yes,"  said  Leonora,  "we  are  glad  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Moorhead." 

Tom  was  surprised  at  first  at  a  certain  coolness  in 
Leonora's  manner.  He  had  expected  and  dreaded  a 
lover's  warm  welcome,  had  begun  already  to  feel 
ashamed  of  his  false  position,  and  yet  had  been  afraid 
not  to  act  the  lover,  and  had  nerved  himself  to  play 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  237 

his  part.  He  was  much  relieved  at  the  lack  of  affec 
tion  in  her  greeting,  until  he  remembered  that  Mr. 
Willoughby  did  not  know  of  the  engagement,  and 
then  he  wondered  how  it  would  be  when  he  should 
find  himself  alone  with  Leonora.  Happily  for  him 
he  was  too  bodily  weary  to  be  nervous,  and  that  saved 
him  much  distress. 

The  three  sat  together  awhile,  Mr.  Willoughby  ex 
changing  cool  civilities  with  the  guest,  and  Leonora 
watching  him  with  a  critical  expression. 

At  first,  to  his  relief,  she  avoided  meeting  his  eye, 
and  looked  bashfully  down  when  he  glanced  at  her — 
a  thing  he  seldom  dared  ;  but  when  at  last  their  eyes 
fairly  met  he  had  an  unpleasant  sense  of  transparen 
cy,  as  if  she  had  been  looking  through  into  his  very 
mind. 

She  spoke  little,  and  he  fancied  there  was  distress 
in  her  voice. 

"How  do  you  do,  Moloch  ?"  said  he,  when  the  wor 
thy  butler  made  his  appearance  to  announce  dinner. 

"  Mr.  Moorhead,  sah.  Ah'm  glad  you've  come  back 
at  last,  sah/'  said  that  functionary,  with  an  air  of  re 
serve. 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  Moloch/'  said  Tom. 

Tom  —  now  T.  Norman  Moorhead  —  dreaded  above 
all  things  the  hour  when  he  should  meet  Leonora 
alone. 

His  brother's  plan  had  seemed  to  him  at  first  both 
dishonorable  and  absurd.  He  would  never  have  at 
tempted  such  an  imposition  upon  any  one  he  knew  ; 
but  until  he  had  seen  Leonora  he  had  thought  of  her 
rather  as  a  character  in  a  play  in  which  he  was  to 
take  part  than  as  a  real  being. 


238  LEONORA   OF    THE   YAWMISH 

Nevertheless,  he  had  thought  of  her  so  much  that 
he  had  become,  unconsciously,  almost  fond  of  her ; 
and  from  the  moment  he  saw  her  a  deep  respect  and 
admiration  for  her  began  to  grow  upon  him. 

He  slept  little  that  night  in  spite  of  his  tired  limbs. 
How  can  a  man  sleep  when  he  finds  himself  in  love 
and  in  a  most  awkward  position  at  the  same  time  ? 

He  lay  wondering  how  she  would  treat  him,  and 
how  he  should  conduct  himself  towards  her  ;  thinking 
what  a  fool  his  brother  was  to  wish  to  give  her  up  ; 
half  inclined  to  tell  her  the  whole  story  ;  deeply 
averse  to  the  thought  of  carrying  out  the  fraud  he 
had  been  so  weak  as  to  undertake. 

When  at  last  he  slept,  it  was  on  the  determination 
to  disclose  himself  in  the  morning  and  tell  her  every 
thing.  But  when  the  morning  came  he  saw  reasons 
why  he  should  not.  He  thought  of  his  brother's 
accusation  of  ingratitude,  and  how  just  it  had  seem 
ed  at  the  time  ;  of  Mrs.  Meri vale's  convincing  argu 
ments,  and  the  rosy  light  in  which  she  had  shown 
him  the  plan ;  of  his  own  position  when  exposed  to 
their  anger  and  the  scorn  of  Leonora  herself  —  she 
looked  capable  of  despising  him  very  thoroughly ; 
moreover,  he  could  not  bear  to  give  up  the  undertak 
ing  itself,  which,  in  spite  of  his  self-contempt,  had  a 
singular  charm  for  him  since  he  had  met  the  object 
of  his  quest. 

He  could  wait — he  could  confess  at  any  time  ;  but 
having  once  confessed,  there  was  no  way  to  undo  the 
effect.  He  would  not  be  able  to  go  home  again  to  his 
brother — he  would  have  seen  the  last  of  Leonora — he 
would  have  no  mercy  from  either. 

He  felt  like  a  man  in  a  nightmare. 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII  239 

The  lady  of  the  valley  seemed  no  more  eager  than 
he  for  the  dreaded  interview  to  take  place. 

He  felt  sure  now  that  she  had  no  suspicion  that  he 
was  not  her  betrothed,  but  thought  her  strangely  shy 
of  him.  She  avoided  being  left  alone  with  him  with 
such  success  that  the  ordeal  he  dreaded  was  put  off 
for  two  days.  And  yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  she 
did  not  regard  him  altogether  with  disfavor.  Some 
times,  again,  he  thought  she  did.  There  was  a  cer 
tain  tenderness  in  her  manner  towards  him,  but  it 
seemed  of  pity  rather  than  of  love,  and  so  puzzled 
him  not  a  little. 

At  length  Mr.  Willoughby,  sitting  at  dinner,  espied 
through  the  window  a  blue  heron.  The  old  gentle 
man  hated  blue  herons  because  they  destroy  fish — 
a  privilege  he  wished  to  monopolize ;  so  he  snatched 
up  a  rifle  and  set  out  after  the  bird,  leaving  Leonora 
to  do  the  honors  of  the  table. 

Tom  was  seized  with  an  inward  panic.  He  could 
not  for  his  life  lay  his  tongue  to  a  word,  and  he  sat 
embarrassed  before  her  in  fear  of  what  she  might  say. 
It  seemed  many  minutes  before  she  spoke,  and  then 
she  said,  simply  and  coolly : 

"  Norman,  you  found  my  letter  at  Seattle  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  and  came  as  soon  as  I  might.  I 
have  told  you  why  it  was  not  sooner.  Why  did  you 
write  me  so  urgently  ?  I  hope  I  am  not  too  late  ?" 

"No,  you  are  not  too  late.  I  wished  you  to  come, 
because  I  am  fairly  persecuted  by  the  man  of  whom 
my  father  spoke  last  night." 

Tom  heard  her  story  with  rising  anger  against  the 
vagabond  and  sympathy  for  her. 

"  Now,  at  least,  you'll  not  be  imprisoned  and  be- 


240  LEONORA   OF    THE   YAWMISH 

sieged  as  you  have  been,"  said  he,  "for  you  have  an 
escort/' 

Here  Mr.  "VVilloughby  came  back,  without  the  blue 
heron. 

"  Did  you  get  him,  father  ?"  Leonora  asked. 

"No,  dear,  I  haven't  your  aim ;  but  I  frightened 
him  terribly." 

So  that  dreaded  ordeal  —  the  first  tete-d-tete  —  was 
over.  There  had  been  no  tender  passages  —  nothing 
had  been  said  about  the  engagement. 

There  was  already  a  bond  of  sympathy  between 
them — namely,  Jimson.  She  understood  Tom's  gen 
uine  sympathy  and  indignation,  and  was  thankful  for 
a  friend. 

That  afternoon  she  took  down  her  rifle,  and  said, 
"Now,  if  you  care  for  a  walk,  I'm  going  out,  Nor 
man." 

Tom  began  to  like  his  middle  name. 

"I'll  be  very  glad,"  said  he,  and  they  went  out  to 
gether  among  the  glories  of  the  woods  and  hills.  He 
looked  into  her  eyes,  heard  her  voice,  touched  her 
hand,  and  saw  her  grace  in  every  little  movement. 

When  they  were  nearly  at  home  again  Leonora  sud 
denly  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  He  looked  up,  and 
saw  the  tall  figure  and  ugly  face  of  the  vagabond 
close  before  them  on  the  narrow  trail. 

"Say  nothing  to  him— not  a  word,"  Leonora  whis 
pered  ;  and  as  they  walked  on  the  man  drew  aside  to 
let  them  pass,  but  glared  out  of  the  bushes  with  an 
evil  look  at  Tom,  who  returned  it  with  a  cool  stare. 

"  So  that's  your  friend  ?"  said  he  to  Leonora. 

"  The  man  I  told  you  about,"  said  she. 

"  Ilin  !"  said  Tom. 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  241 

The  days  went  on  pleasantly  enough.  Tom  had 
given  up  the  idea  of  confession,  owning  to  himself 
that  he  had  not  the  courage  for  it.  He  had  been  con 
sidering  how  he  should  bring  his  brother  to  his  senses 
and  back  to  his  allegiance.  But  when  they  met  the 
man  in  the  woods,  and  Leonora  held  his  arm,  he  sud 
denly  felt  installed  as  her  protector,  and  liked  it 
hugely.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  liked  it  too  well 
to  give  it  up. 

So  he  said  to  himself,  "  If  Charley's  fool  enough 
to  throw  away  his  chance,  let  him.  He  deserves  to 
lose  her.  Now  the  only  question  is,  can  /win  her? 
On  my  own  merits  ?  I  want  nothing  better  than  that 
on  earth.  And  Fll  do  it." 

This  resolution  made  him  at  once  happy  and  miser 
able.  He  was  tormented  by  the  two  worst  tortures 
devised  for  man — Love  and  Conscience. 

Conscience  said,  "  If  you  persist  in  this  fraud,  your 
love  shall  be  a  curse." 

Love  said,  "  If  you  listen  to  Conscience,  I'm  off/' 

Moloch  went  to  the  sound. 

After  his  return  an  unaccountable  change  took  place 
in  Leonora.  Her  father  was  surprised,  Moloch  de 
lighted  beyond  measure. 

She  had  never  been  in  such  high  spirits  before. 
She  went  about  singing  as  of  old.  She  laughed  a 
great  deal,  sometimes  without  apparent  reason.  She 
showered  small  acts  of  kindness  upon  Mr.  Willoughby 
and  the  worthy  butler ;  and  Moloch  saw  her  go  out 
into  the  clearing  and  catch  and  kiss  each  of  the  five 
ponies,  then  into  the  shed  and  kiss  the  cow. 

Tom  had  his  share  of  the  change,  but  did  not  al 
together  profit  by  it.  She  was  far  less  shy  of  him  than 

16 


242  LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISH 

before ;  but  that  touch  of  sympathy  in  her  manner 
was  gone,  and  he  even  felt  that  he  amused  her  with 
out  intending  to — a  most  uncomfortable  feeling,  as 
every  one  knows. 

He  was  not  surprised,  when  he  came  to  think  it 
over,  that  she  never  spoke  to  him  of  their  engagement. 
It  was  natural  that  she  should  wait  for  him  to  begin. 
But  he  was  sure  that  she  must  wonder  very  much  that 
he,  whom  she  believed  to  be  her  promised  husband, 
should  never  speak  to  her  of  love,  especially  since  she 
must  have  got  her  ideas  of  that  interesting  topic  from 
books,  wherein  love  is  made  at  great  length  and  with 
much  embroidery  of  words.  But  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  speak  of  it,  nor  could  he  abandon  the  hope 
of  speaking  by-and-by. 

However,  there  are  happily  other  things  to  talk 
about,  even  for  a  man  and  maid,  and  they  got  on  well 
together,  on  the  whole.  The  more  they  were  together 
the  more  bitterly  ashamed  of  himself  he  became.  He 
could  hardly  look  her  in  the  face,  and  when  he  ap 
proached  her  it  was  with  a  sense  of  meanness  that 
made  him  very  humble  indeed. 

He  hoped  that  she  saw  only  the  humility  and  not 
its  cause.  He  also  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  save 
her  life,  or  do  battle  for  her  in  some  way,  so  that  he 
might  establish  an  existence  of  his  own  in  her  eyes, 
and  not  be  forced  to  hide  in  his  brother's  personality, 
which,  he  began  to  feel,  was  too  small  for  him  and 
not  good  enough  for  her. 

He  was  in  hopes  that  Jimson— the  vagabond— would 
turn  up  and  do  something  outrageous,  that  he  might 
have  at  him  in  honor  of  his  lady ;  but  Jimson  stayed 
away. 


LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISH  243 

"  Norman/'  Leonora  said  to  him  one  day,  "  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  have  changed  a  greal  deal/'  He 
looked  at  her,  and  then  his  eyes  dropped  before  hers. 

"  I  hope  I  have,"  said  he. 

"  Sometimes/'  she  went  on,  "  I  find  it  hard  almost 
to  believe  that  you  are  the  same  person/' 

They  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  and  he  felt  uncom 
fortably  that  she  was  looking  at  his  face. 

"  The  years  make  great  changes,"  said  he,  "  and  so 
does  a  beard." 

She  laughed.  "Yes,  but  a  beard  does  not  change 
a  man's  whole  being — does  it  ?  His  manner  and  way 
of  thinking  and  feeling  ?  I  did  not  think  even  the 
years  could  do  all  that,  and  yet  —  you  are  so  differ 
ent." 

Moorhead  suffered  inward  panic,  but  struggled  hard 
to  seem  all  calm  without. 

"  Improved,  I  hope  ?"'  said  he. 

"I  won't  say  that,"  she  replied;  "only  changed. 
You  used  to  seem  so  fond  of  yourself  when  you  were 
here  before.  That  was  bad.  Now  you  seem — well — 
anything  but  proud  of  yourself,  almost  ashamed." 

Did  she  know  —  had  she  begun  to  suspect?  He 
gave  a  quick,  frightened  glance  at  her  face,  but  it 
told  him  nothing.  It  was  just  serenely  beautiful. 

"  Oh  !  You  needn't  be  afraid,"  she  said;  "  /  don't 
care.  I  don't  like  it,  of  course.  Still,  I  think  I  liked 
the  other  less — what  you  were  before,  I  mean.  There's 
hope  for  a  man  ashamed  of  himself.  But  when  he's 
proud  of  himself  there's  not,  I  think.  Yes,  on  the 
whole,  perhaps  you  have  improved — not  that  it  mat 
ters  !" 

He  began  to  believe  that  she  had  found  him  out; 


244  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

but  though  lie  was  much  beside  her  that  day  she 
gave  no  further  sign  of  knowledge  or  suspicion. 

Meanwhile  the  man  of  the  woods  was  not  seen,  and 
Leonora  was  not  so  much  afraid  of  him.  It  was 
seldom  out  of  Tom's  mind,  however,  and  the  thought 
of  him,  though  it  brought  forth  no  charming  image, 
was  pleasanter  to  the  poor  fellow  than  the  thought  of 
himself,  whom  he  had  come  to  regard  as  no  better 
than  a  rogue. 

He  took  long  walks  alone,  and,  in  secret  places,  de 
voted  himself  to  certain  gymnastic  exercises  of  his 
college  days.  He  hung  his  roll  of  blankets  to  a  limb, 
and  punched  it,  right  and  left,  by  the  half -hour. 

Moloch  saw  him  and  told  Leonora. 

"Dear  me!"  said  she,  "I  wonder  why  he  does 
that  ?  Did  you  offer  to  help  Mr.  Moorhead,  Mo 
loch  ?" 

"  JSVm,"  said  Moloch  ;  "no,  Miss  'Nora/' 

"  Then  do  so  at  once,  please." 

Moorhead  declined  the  offer  of  aid.  "I  am  just 
trying  to  soften  them  a  little,"  said  he,  knocking  the 
bundle  up  among  the  leaves,  "and  now" — meeting  it 
as  it  came  back  with  a  tremendous  right-hander  that 
sent  it  over  the  branch  from  which  it  sprang,  and 
wheeling  to  stop  it  with  his  left  as  it  fell  on  the  other 
side  of  the  limb — "  I'm  done." 

"Now,  what  am  Mr.  Moorhead's  purpose  ?"  Moloch 
wondered,  and  Leonora  also  exercised  her  imagination 
in  vain. 

They  lived  to  be  enlightened. 

One  morning,  very  early,  Leonora  thought  she 
heard  voices.  One  was  Tom's,  and  he  spoke  sharply 
and  to  the  point. 


LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISH  245 

"'Get  out  of  this!" 

The  other  was  gruff  and  harsh  and  surly — she  shud 
dered  as  she  heard  it — and  what  it  said  was  abusive 
and  blasphemous. 

By  this  time  she  had  011  a  wrapper,  had  hurried  to 
her  window,  and  was  peeping  out. 

There  was  her  unwelcome  suitor,  the  vagabond,  un 
couth,  lowering,  and  savage,  trying  to  tower  with  his 
slouching  bulk  above  her  friend  Mr.  Moorhead,  who 
for  his  part  refused  to  be  towered  over,  and  stood 
alert  and  cool,  looking  unusually  pleased. 

Mr.  Jimson  was  scowling  his  ugliest ;  Mr.  Moor- 
head  was  smiling  gayly,  only  that  there  was  something 
peculiar  behind  the  smile.  She  had  never  seen  that 
look  before,  but  knew  by  instinct  what  it  meant — fight, 
and  the  joy  of  it. 

She  felt  afterwards,  when  it  was  over  and  there  was 
time  to  think,  that  she  ought  to  have  roused  her  fa 
ther  and  Moloch  to  prevent  possible  bloodshed  ;  but 
she  was  so  absorbed  in  what  was  going  on  that  it 
never  entered  her  head  at  the  time. 

"Then  look  out  for  yourself!"  Tom  was  saying, 
quietly,  drawing  back  a  little  at  the  same  time,  and 
resting  his  weight  on  his  left  foot. 

Suddenly  his  laughing  eyes  flashed — lightning  out 
of  clear  sky — and  his  left  arm  shot  out. 

It  was  a  beautiful  blow.  Leonora  could  see  that, 
but  she  wondered  at  the  effect,  for  she  did  not  know 
how  much  went  to  make  up  its  perfection  :  how  the 
left  foot  was  raised  an  instant  to  the  other  knee  ;  how 
the  head  went  a  little  down,  the  shoulder  swung  for 
ward  ;  the  right  hand  held  itself  ready,  guarding  chin 
and  wind  at  once  ;  the  right  foot  pushed  hard  from 


246  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

the  ground;  the  muscles  tightened  from  breast  to 
groin ;  and  the  whole  weight  and  force  of  back  and 
loins,  chest,  head,  and  shoulders— the  whole  muscu 
lar  force  of  foot  and  calf  and  thigh,  body  and  arm- 
concentrated  in  an  instant  on  that  one  clinched  fist 
that  caught  the  f  ellow's  chin  and  drove  his  head  back 
on  his  round  shoulders. 

Before  he  could  reel  backward  came  the  right  hand 
upon  his  neck,  hurling  him  dazed  against  the  logs  of 
the  wall ;  but  he  had  a  hard  head  and  staggered  for 
ward,  wasting  his  wind  in  curses,  and  swinging  his 
arms  like  the  sails  of  a  windmill,  beating  the  empty 
air  with  blows  that  seemed  fit  to  crush  a  skull  or 
throw  a  shoulder  out  of  gear. 

But  Tom  had  sprung  lightly  back,  landing  in  posi 
tion  to  strike  :  left  hand  well  up ;  right  just  below 
and  behind  the  left ;  weight  on  the  left  knee,  and 
right  foot  poised  on  its  ball. 

A  slight  movement  to  one  side,  while  the  big  fists 
flapped  harmless  about  the  back  of  his  head  ;  anoth 
er  straight,  quick  blow,  in  the  body  this  time,  and  Tom 
stepped  forward,  the  right  foot  coming  up  behind  the 
left,  still  ready  for  another. 

The  objectionable  suitor  gasped  and  grunted,  stag 
gered  backward,  and  put  his  hand  behind  him. 

"  Look  out/'  cried  Leonora  from  the  window ; 
"  he's  got  a  knife  !"  But  before  the  words  were  well 
out  of  her  mouth,  or  the  knife  from  its  sheath,  came 
the  terrible  right  again  hard  on  the  man's  jaw.  His 
head  struck  the  wall,  and  the  knife  flew  sideways 
from  his  hand  and  stuck  in  the  ground. 

Tom's  face  was  set  and  stern  now,  and  glorious 
(Leonora  thought)  with  a  right  wrath.  He  moved 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISH  247 

like  the  flash  of  a  sword.  The  sight  of  the  knife  had 
made  him  mad  with  a  cold  wrath.  Left— right ;  left 
—right :  the  blows  told  heavily  on  face  and  body. 

Leonora  wondered  that  the  other  man  could  live 
through  it.  Indeed,  any  ordinary  man  must  have  fall 
en  before  now  ;  but  this  one,  calloused  by  hardship 
and  a  brute's  life  in  the  forest,  had  the  toughness  of 
a  beast,  and  lacked  the  quivering,  sensitive  nerves 
that  are  the  prey  of  a  clever  boxer. 

Again  and  again  Tom  struck  him  at  the  juncture 
of  neck  and  jaw,  expecting  at  each  blow  to  see  him 
drop. 

Suddenly  he  rallied,  maddened  with  pain  and  the 
closeness  of  defeat,  and,  swinging  his  great  fist  with 
all  his  might,  landed  a  round  blow  upon  Tom's  head 
close  to  the  temple. 

Tom  reeled  away,  shaken  in  every  muscle,  and  stood 
there  a  moment  dazed  and  quivering ;  but  none  but 
a  practised  boxer  could  have  told  the  state  in  which 
the  blow  left  him,  for  the  well-trained  feet  kept  their 
firm  position,  the  hands  took  their  places,  and  he 
stood,  to  all  appearance,  as  firm  as  a  bronze  statue  of 
Self-defence. 

On  came  the  other,  mad  and  exulting,  and  flung 
himself  upon  his  foe. 

Again  the  left  foot  rose,  the  left  arm  straightened 
with  the  whole  weight  of  the  body  behind  it  —  a 
mechanical  movement  without  much  force  of  its  own, 
but  accurate.  The  adversary  supplied  the  force  ;  his 
head,  rushing  forward,  met  the  fist  just  as  the  arm 
stiffened. 

Suppose  an  upright  post,  with  a  crosspiece  reach 
ing  out  from  it  horizontally  at  about  the  height  of  your 


248  LEONOHA   OP   THE   YAWMISI1 

chin.  It  is  a  harmless  object.  But  quarrel  with  that 
post,  become  enraged,  try  to  strike  it,  hurl  yourself 
bodily  at  it,  and  let  your  chin  strike  the  end  of  that 
crosspiece. 

The  post  has  exerted  no  force,  and  yet  you  will  find 
yourself  rolling  on  the  ground  with  a  head  full  of  pain 
and  flashes. 

That  is  the  effect  of  a  straight  counter,  such  as  Tom 
gave  Mr.  Jimson. 

It  struck  him  full  on  the  forehead  and  down  he 
went.  He  was  up  again  in  an  instant,  and  rushed  at 
Tom,  who  had  recovered  strength  again,  and  met  him 
with  a  right-hand  blow  in  the  midriff. 

Then  Leonora  saw  the  savage-looking  fellow  double 
over,  and  heard  him  groan  and  gasp,  trying  to  catch 
his  breath. 

As  he  bent  forward,  Tom  stepped  a  little  aside, 
lifted  his  chin  with  a  quick  upward  stroke  of  the  left 
fist,  and  put  all  his  force  into  a  tremendous  blow  with 
his  right,  just  where  the  jawbone  joins  the  neck.  The 
man  tottered,  fell  heavily,  and  lay  like  a  log. 

"  Oh,  you  have  killed  him  !"  Leonora  cried. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Tom. 

"Killed  whom?  Killed  what?"  Mr.  Willoughby 
called,  from  his  room ;  and  Moloch  came  out  bare 
foot. 

"  You  done  well,  Mr.  Moorhead,  sail.     Is  he  daid  ?" 

"  No/'  said  Tom.  "  He'll  get  up  and  go  away  soon. 
And  he  won't  come  here  again." 

When  Jimson  came  to,  the  three  men  were  stand 
ing  over  him,  for  Mr.  Willoughby  had  arrived  hastily 
clad. 

The   fellow   rose   with  a  sidelong  movement   and 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  249 

slouched  away,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
went. 

"  What  did  you  hit  him  with  ?"  Mr.  Willoughby 
asked,  smiling  at  Tom  with  the  first  cordiality  he  had 
shown  him. 

"Nature's  weapons." 

"Well  done,  sir!  But  you  ought  to  have  used  a 
club.  No  club  could  have  been  too  hard  or  too 
heavy." 

Then  the  door  opened,  and  Leonora  came,  pale  and 
anxious,  all  in  a  flutter,  and  held  out  her  hand  to 
Moorhead,  saying,  "  You  are  hurt !" 

"Not  the  least,  thank  you/'  said  Tom,  holding  the 
little  hand  as  long  as  he  might. 

"  But  he  gave  you  a  dreadful  blow !" 

"  Did  he  ?    One  doesn't  notice  much  at  the  time." 

"  But  you  must  have  hurt  Mm  terribly ;  he  behaved, 
at  last,  as  if  you  had  shot  him." 

"  Deceitful  and  reprehensible  of  him,"  said  Moor- 
head.  "I  didn't." 

"I  have  read  in  the  papers  about  fights — prize 
fights — but  I  had  no  idea  they  were  so  frightful  to 
see.  I'm  glad  you  are  safe  !" 

"I  am  sorry  you  saw  it,  Miss  Willoughby." 

Now  this  was  not  true.  T.  Norman  Moorhead  had 
never  been  so  glad  of  anything  in  his  life. 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Leonora,  beaming  upon  him.  "  It 
was  dreadful — horrible !"  she  added,  smiling  with 
genuine  pleasure.  "  But  oh,  I'm  afraid  that  horrid 
creature  will  do  you  some  injury!" 

"Not  likely,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby.  "That  kind  of 
animal  is  generally  cowed  by  a  thrashing.  Besides, 
Mr.  Moorhead  seems  able  to  take  care  of  himself." 


250  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

"Why  did  you  do  it  ?"  Leonora  asked. 

"  You  said  you  didn't  want  him  about.  And  then 
he  was  impudent." 

"  Oh  !    AVhat  did  he  say  ?" 

Moorhead  smiled — a  restrained  smile.  "  I  think  I 
won't  repeat  his  remarks,  if  you  please.  I  haven't 
his  vocabulary ;  and  if  I  had,  the  result  might  not  be 
edifying." 

"  Oh  \"  said  Leonora. 

When  they  were  alone  together  afterwards  she  said, 
"  Thank  you  !"  and  looked  as  if  she  meant  it. 

"Not  at  all.     I  enjoyed  it,"  said  Tom. 


XXVIII 

AFTER  the  fight  Tom  felt  that  he  had  a  real  claim 
of  his  own  on  the  lady's  acquaintance,  apart  from  that 
his  brother  had  made  over  to  him. 

He  saw  that  she  still  looked  curiously  at  him  from 
time  to  time,  as  if  he  puzzled  her ;  but  when  their 
eyes  met  there  was  a  far  more  kindly  light  in  hers 
than  there  had  been  before.  It  was  plain,  too,  that 
he  had  completely  won  the  heart  of  Moloch,  and  the 
sense  of  having  a  sound  friend  by,  of  whatever  com 
plexion,  was  a  comfort  to  him.  He  was  recovering 
his  own  individuality  by  degrees,  and  grew  bolder  in 
his  own  boots. 

One  day  he  was  watching  her  little  brown  fingers  as 
they  moved  deftly  over  her  needlework,  she  sitting 
on  one  of  her  favorite  logs  and  leaning  back  on  a 
curving  arm  of  vine-maple,  he  lying  on  the  moss  at 
her  feet. 

"  Leonora  \"  said  he. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  called  her  Leonora. 
Before  the  others  she  had  been  Miss  Willoughby,  of 
course ;  and  at  other  times,  not  quite  daring  to  say 
Leonora  (which  had  become  a  very  sacred  word  to 
him),  he  had  called  her  "You." 

Her  eyes  darkened  as  she  looked  down  at  him  and 
she  dropped  her  work. 

"  What  right—"  she  began,  and  stopped  and  turned 


252  LEONORA   OF   THE  YAWMISH 

her  face  away,  for  his  was   more   earnest  than  she 
liked. 

"  What  right  ?"  said  he,  daring  to  be  reproachful. 
"  Why,  surely  I  may  call  the  girl  who  has  promised— 
and  he  stopped  and  looked  away  also. 

He  all  but  forgot,  at  times,  that  it  was  not  he  but 
his  brother  to  whom  she  was  engaged  ;  because  he 
felt  engaged  to  her  himself,  knowing  that  he  belonged 
to  her,  whether  she  would  have  him  or  no.  When  he 
remembered,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  say,  "who 
has  promised  to  marry  me."  He  had  not  told  her  a 
lie  yet,  and  did  not  mean  to.  He  had  allowed  her 
to  think,  if  she  would,  that  he  was  0.  Norman  Moor- 
head,  but  he  had  never  before  come  so  near  claiming 
actively  his  brother's  identity;  so  he  could  not  finish 
what  he  had  begun  to  say. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Leonora,  turning  sharply  upon  him. 
Her  face  had  a  grieved  and  anxious  look. 

"  Nothing,"  said  he.  "  Of  course,  if  you  don't  wish 
it  I  won't.  But  I  thought— 

"  You  thought  ?"  said  she,  and  waited  with  parted 
lips  and  eyes  full  of  question. 

Moorhead  was  very  busy  tearing  up  bits  of  moss  and 
laying  them  by. 

"  You  said  something  about  a  promise  ?"  she  sug 
gested. 

He  told  the  truth,  as  far  as  his  speech  went.  "I 
had  no  right,"  said  he  ;  "  I  beg  your  pardon." 

Then,  if  he  had  only  known,  the  anxiety  went  out 
of  her  face,  and  there  came  to  it  a  gleam  of  inde 
scribable  sweetness  and  forgiveness.  Forgiveness  for 
what  ?  Time  may  tell.  If  not,  perhaps  Leonora  will 
tell  herself.  Meanwhile  her  face  was  pretty  to  see, 


LEONORA   OF   THE  YAWMISH  253 

as  when,  on  a  spring  day,  light  and  shadow  chase  each 
other  about  among  the  flowers.  Pleasure  came  next, 
and  mischief,  and  her  eyes  laughed,  but  he  did  not 
see  them. 

"  Please  explain,"  she  said,  very  coldly  indeed.  "  I 
do  not  understand.  You"  (with  immense  dignity) 
"  used  my  name  !" 

He  was  still  busy  with  moss. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "you  have  called  me  Norman 
— once  or  twice." 

"  Oh  !  Have  I  ?  I  beg  your  pardon  most  humbly. 
And  you  want  to  be  revenged  by  calling  me  Leonora. 
I  am  very  sorry,  Mr.  Moorhead.  I  won't  call  you 
Norman  again.  It  shall  be  Mr.  Moorhead  —  always 
Mr.  Moorhead,  and,  if  you  please,  Miss  Willoughby" 

"As  you  will,"  said  he  ;  "I  will  not  offend  you 
again." 

So  they  dropped  the  subject  and  talked  pleasantly 
of  books. 

He  wondered  what  her  objection  was  to  his  calling 
her  Leonora.  Certainly  his  brother  had  always  done 
so.  Perhaps  it  was  only  one  of  those  fancies  maidens 
are  said  to  cherish  suddenly.  He  had  not  offended 
in  any  other  way — so  far  as  he  knew. 

Perhaps  it  was  better  so.  At  all  events,  she  was 
quite  gracious  in  other  respects  —  so  gracious  and 
sweet  and  kind  that  his  conscience  hurt  him  more 
than  ever. 

If  he  could  have  heard  what  she  said  to  herself 
afterwards  lie  would  have  wondered  what  she  meant. 

"  A  few  days  ago  he  proved  himself  a  man.  Now  he 
shows  himself  a  gentleman.  And  he  has  a  conscience. 
But  then — how  could  he  ?  How  will  it  end  ?" 


254  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

After  this  his  experience  with  womankind  as  exem 
plified  in  Leonora  was  strange  and  various,  and  he 
learned  to  marvel  at  the  elasticity  of  her  mood. 

Sometimes  he  felt  himself  an  accepted  lover,  ad 
mitted  to  his  brother's  rights,  and  suffered  shame  ac 
cordingly  ;  sometimes  a  mere  acquaintance,  and  suf 
fered  as  with  mental  cold  and  hunger ;  sometimes  a 
sort  of  dog  or  other  possession  of  no  great  value,  to 
be  made  careless  and  thankless  use  of  and  generally  ill- 
treated  ;  and  this,  by  contrast,  he  enjoyed  in  a  humble 
way,  because  it  seemed  akin  to  his  true  position ;  he 
had  learned  to  take  a  snub  from  his  lady  as  a  favor. 

Leonora  seemed  happier  than  she  had  ever  seemed 
before,  and  was  very  good  to  her  father  and  Moloch. 

One  evening,  at  dinner,  she  turned  suddenly  to  poor 
Tom,  who  was  trying  to  eat  soup  neatly  without  look 
ing  at  his  plate,  because  he  had  other  use  for  his 
eyes,  and  said  : 

11  Mr.  Moorhead,  do  you  remember  the  day  you  shot 
at  the  elk  ?"  She  had  rather  avoided  reminiscences 
heretofore,  for  which  Tom  had  been  thankful,  as  he 
knew  that  they  were  the  weak  point  in  his  position, 
in  spite  of  his  brother's  teachings. 

It  happened,  however,  that  Charles  had  told  him 
all  about  the  "elk,"  so  he  answered,  glibly,  being 
careful  to  say  nothing  literally  untrue  : 

"  Happily  it  was  not  hurt.  It  was  one  of  your  cows 
that  had  strayed  into  the  woods/' 

She  looked  a  little  surprised,  and  then  laughed. 
"Never  mind,"  said  she.  "'It  was  a  bad  shot;  but 
it's  as  well  you  missed,  since  it  happened  to  be  the 
cow.  But  when  you  saved  me  from  that  wounded 
bear,  that  made  up  for  it  bravely,  didn't  it  ?" 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII  255 

Now  this  was  very  strange  —  strange  and  dreadful. 
Charles  had  never  said  a  word  about  the  wounded 
bear,  or  any  other  bear  in  particular,  and  he  certainly 
would  not  have  concealed  through  modesty  any  inci 
dent  redounding  to  his  personal  glory. 

Tom  felt  a  pang  of  jealousy  that  Charles  should 
have  been  so  privileged  as  to  save  Leonora,  and  of 
rage  that  he  had  left  him  in  ignorance  of  the  fact. 
What  could  he  say  ?  He  certainly  did  not  remember. 

So  he  hedged,  inanely  : 

"  It  is  sometimes  easier  to  shoot  a  bear  than  a  cow." 

"Is  it  ?"  said  Leonora.     "I  didn't  know." 

Mr.  Willoughby  stared.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
Leonora  was  developing  a  vein  of  flippancy  quite  new 
to  her,  and  he  did  not  like  it. 

"  /  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Moorhead's  shooting  at  my 
cow  or  saving  my  daughter,"  he  said,  crossly.  He 
was  thinking  what  else  might  have  taken  place  with 
out  his  knowledge,  and  that  perhaps  Leonora  had 
better  see  less  of  the  young  man  in  future. 

Before  the  fight  he  had  looked  upon  the  guest  as  a 
mere  puppy,  and  had  never  considered  the  possibility 
of  his  daughter's  taking  a  fancy  to  him  ;  but  since  that 
event  he  had  felt  more  respect  for  Moorhead,  and  the 
change  in  Leonora's  manner  troubled  him.  He  feared 

O 

that  she  was  too  well  pleased  with  the  young  man's 
victory  over  the  uncalled-for  Jimson. 

"  Never  mind,  father  mine,"  said  she.  "  The  safety 
of  your  daughter  weighs  against  the  fright  occasioned 
to  your  cow." 

"But  I  can  recall  neither  cow  nor  bear,"  said  Mr. 
Willoughby. 

"The  bear  is  beyond  recall  ;  the  cow  is  where  she 


256  LEONOHA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

belongs,  and  does  not  need  it,"  said  Leonora.  "  And 
surely  you  have  not  forgotten,  father,  how  you  fell 
into  the  deep  eddy  just  above  the  rapids,  when  you 
were  after  that  very  large  trout,  and  how  Mr.  Moor- 
head  pulled  you  out  at  the  risk  of  his  life.  Yon  re 
member,  don't  you,  Mr.  Moorhead  ?" 

Tom  began  to  see  now  how  futile  it  had  been  for 
Charles  to  try  to  teach  him  the  events  of  his  stay  in 
the  valley.  Here  three  incidents  had  been  mentioned 
— one  he  knew  of  and  could  talk  about,  guardedly; 
the  other  two  either  his  brother  had  neglected  to  tell 
him,  or  he  himself  had  utterly  forgotten. 

"You  remember;  do  you  not,  Mr.  Moorhead?" 
said  Leonora  again. 

She  was  leaning  forward  waiting  his  answer,  and 
Mr.  Willoughby  was  staring  at  him  with  an  expres 
sion  of  amazement,  which  Moorhead  attributed  to  his 
own  delay  in  answering. 

"  He — Mr. Willoughby — was  very  wet!"  he  said,  des 
perately.  Then,  inspired  by  the  sudden  thought  that 
Moloch  had  told  him  the  river  was  unusually  high,  he 
added,  "The  water  was  much  lower  then." 

"  Sir  !"  said  Mr.  Willoughby,  sharply,  unable  to 
retain  his  wrath  any  longer,  "Leonora  !  what  do  you 
mean  ?  Pulled  me  out  ?  /  was  very  wet  ?  What  do 
you  mean,  sir  f 

"I  was  only  trying  Mr.  Moorhead's  memory,  father," 
said  Leonora.  "It's  a  very  good  memory,  indeed.  / 
can't  recall  any  such  incident  with  mine  !" 

Moorhead  turned  fiery-red,  seeing  at  last  the  trap 
she  had  set  for  him.  Mr.  Willoughby  laid  down  his 
knife  and  fork,  and  stared  straight  at  him  as  if  de 
manding  an  explanation. 


LEONORA  OP  THE   YAWMISH  257 

Leonora  bent  her  head  a  little  and  looked  amused, 
casting  furtive  glances,  now  sidelong  at  her  father, 
now  under  arched  brows  across  the  table  at  Moorhead, 
who  could  not  help  thinking,  in  spite  of  his  misery, 
how  pretty  the  glances  were. 

But  the  need  of  allaying  the  old  gentleman's  wrath 
was  imminent,  and  it  was  written  upon  Leonora's  face 
that  she  did  not  care,  and  meant  him  to  get  out  of  it 
as  best  he  might. 

Then  a  luminous,  desperate  idea  flashed  into  his 
mind,  and  he  looked  up  boldly  and  smiled.  For  the 
first  time  he  felt  that  his  legal  training  had  not  been 
wasted — he  needed  it  all  for  this  crisis. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Willoughby,"  said  he,  pleasantly. 
< '  I  don't  wonder  at  your  indignation,  unless  you  hap 
pen  to  be  aware  of  a  rather  new  and  distinctly  absurd 
point  of  etiquette  that  was  probably  not  the  fashion 
before  you  withdrew  yourself  from  the  world — name 
ly,  that  when  a  lady  recalls  a  reminiscence  a  man 
must  in  courtesy  seem  to  remember,  and  make  an 
evasive  answer  rather  than  seem  to  doubt  or  forget. 
You  doubtless  see  the  point,  which  is  rather  a  fine 
one  even  for  social  ethics  ?  To  set  up  one's  own  mem 
ory  in  opposition  to  a  lady's  is  analogous  to  disputing 
her,  and  so  may  be  considered  a  rudeness.  Other 
wise,  of  course,  when  the  reminiscence  is  brought  up 
for  the  sake  of  actual  information,  then  one  may 
venture  to  differ;  but  when  it  comes  up  in  a  merely 
conversational  way — when  the  question  is,  as  it  were, 
only  a  form  of  narrative — you  follow  me,  sir  ? — then 
the  idea  is  that  a  direct  difference  of  opinion  is  tanta 
mount  to  a  contradiction.  I,  of  course,  do  not  re 
member  any  such  incident  as  that  which  Miss  Wil- 

17 


258  LEONORA  OF   THE   YAWMISH 

lougliby  has  been  pleased  playfully  to  suggest,  but 
how  could  I  say  so  ?  Therefore  I  avoided  contradic 
tion  by  saying,  '  Mr.  Willoughby  was  very  wet/  which 
was  a  truism,  assuming  (as  one  must)  Miss  Willough- 
by's  reminiscence  to  have  been  real;  and  I  said,  'The 
river  was  lower  then/  which,  you  will  remember,  was 
the  fact.  I  owe  you  an  apology,  sir,  for  the  personal 
nature  of  the  first  remark.  I  was  rather  surprised  at 
what  had  just  been  said,  and  it  was  the  first  thing 
that  entered  my  head." 

Mr.  Willoughby  burst  out  laughing.  The  absurdity 
of  human  fashions  was  a  hobby  of  his,  and  Moorhead's 
explanation  tickled  him. 

' '  The  apology  is  due  from  me"  he  said.  "  Of  course 
I  had  no  idea,  positively  none,  of  this  new  point  of  de 
corum.  No  doubt  there  are  ten  thousand  others  of 
which  we  are  ignorant  here,  just  as  in  my  day  there 
were  many  quite  as  absurd.  Yet  I  like  them,  with  all 
their  absurdity.  They  tend  to  make  men  careful  in 
their  conduct,  I  suppose,  and,  apart  from  their  use, 
are  a  most  amusing  study.  No  more  of  your  mis 
chievous  recollections,  miss  !  I  wonder  what  a  figure 
you  and  I  should  cut  to-day  at  a  fashionable  table  ?" 

Tom  was  thinking  that  Leonora  would  "cut"  the 
most  glorious  figure  he  had  ever  seen,  and  wishing  he 
had  a  table  of  his  own  where  she  might  preside.  What 
Leonora  was  thinking  of  his  excuse— whether  she  be 
lieved  it  or  not— he  could  not  tell,  but  he  thought 
there  was  something  almost  congratulatory  in  the  look 
she  gave  him. 

Why  had  she  dragged  him  into  the  dangerous  land 
of  memories  ?  Did  she  suspect  him  ?  No,  it  was  im 
possible,  or  she  must  surely  have  turned  him  out  long 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  259 

ago.  She  would  despise  him  if  she  knew,  and  she 
certainly  did  not  despise  him.  What  should  he  do  ? 
Why  not  let  well  alone  for  the  present  ?  But  was  it 
well  ?  To  be  in  an  utterly  false  position  towards  the 
woman  he  loved  was  all  wrong.  Why  not  get  out  of 
it,  then  ?  Why  not  confess  ?  But  to  confess  would 
doubtless  condemn  him  to  go  away  in  disgrace  and 
never  see  her  again.  Would  it  not  be  better  to  be  in 
disgrace  with  her  than  with  his  own  conscience  ? 

The  misguided  young  man  found  the  idea  of  the 
disapproval  of  conscience  much  the  easier  to  bear. 
Yes  ;  he  could  bear  his  own  contempt  better  than 
hers.  So  he  tried  to  dispose  of  the  conscience.,  but 
it  would  not  let  him  alone.  A  conscience  may  be 
reasoned  about,  but  not  with. 

Leonora  would,  at  least,  let  him  alone  after  the 
first,  if  he  confessed.  The  inward  monitor  would 
not,  unless  he  confessed.  But  then  she  would  let  him 
too  well  alone.  He  decided  to  think  it  over.  The 
more  he  thought,  the  more  miserable  he  grew. 

He  wrote  an  angry  letter  to  his  brother,  and  kept 
it  in  his  pocket,  waiting  an  opportunity  to  scad  it. 

Meanwhile  Leonora  put  him  to  much  torture.  She 
brought  up  no  more  reminiscences  in  her  father's 
presence,  but  when  no  third  person  was  by  she  rev 
elled  in  them. 

"  Let  us  forget  that  other  time,"  said  he.  "  It  was 
unsatisfactory." 

"Can  you  forget  it  ?"  said  she  ;  and  he  wondered, 
uneasily,  what  she  meant  by  that. 

Was  it  the  very  natural  reproach  of  a  girl  whose 
lover  speaks  of  forgetting  the  days  of  their  first  love 
(which  is  blasphemy  in  a  lover),  or  did  she  mean  that 


260  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

he  ought  not  to  be  able  to  forget  what  he  had  never 
known  ?  He  told  himself  that  he  was  giving  way  to 
absurd  fancies — that  she  could  not  suspect  him. 

Would  she  have  teased  his  brother  with  those  ri 
diculous  reminiscences  of  hers  ?  Very  likely— why, 
of  course— if  he  had  betrayed  forgetfulness,  it  would 
have  amused  her  to  do  so. 

The  rest  of  her  conduct  would  have  puzzled  him 
less  if  he  had  not  come  out  of  his  confinement  in  that 
office  of  his  nearly  or  quite  as  ignorant  of  girls  and 
their  little  ways  as  she  could  be  of  men.  It  never 
occurred  to  him  to  accuse  that  stately  being  of  flirt 
ing  ;  and  yet— 

She  would  treat  him  for  a  day  with  great  kindness 
and  geniality ;  would  exchange  little  confidences  with 
him,  demand  his  sympathy,  laugh  at  his  jokes.^  The 
next  morning  she  would  hold  him  at  a  stranger's  dis 
tance,  with  that  extreme  of  courtesy  that  is  little 
short  of  rudeness,  and— which  cut  him  deeply— would 
take  any  attempt  at  frivolous  discourse  in  the  most 
serious  manner.  Again,  she  would  take  entire  pos 
session  of  him,  give  no  mark  of  favor  in  return,  and 
order  him  about,  with  no  thanks  for  his  services.  He 
took  it  all  very  meekly,  glad  of  any  chance  to  do  her 
bidding. 

Once  she  said  :  "  I  don't  see  why  you  waste  your 
time  out  here.  I  should  think  a  man  ought  to  have 
some  occupation  that  would  keep  him  busy  at  home. 
His  time  ought  to  be  valuable." 

"  Did  you  not  write  and  say,  '  Come  at  once  ?'  '  he 
asked.  He  avoided  any  statement  that  she  had  writ 
ten  to  Mm.  "  I  came,  and  perhaps  it  was  fortunate 
I  did.  I  do  not  like  to  leave  you  while  that- 


LEONORA   OF  THE   YAWMISH  261 

creature  —  may  still  be  somewhere  about  to  trouble 

you." 

She  gave  a  little  exclamation  of  disgust.  "  Poor 
creature  !"  said  she  ;  "  I  think  you  treated  him  bru 
tally.  I  wouldn't  boast  of  it." 

"  I  was  not  boasting." 

"  I  wouldn't,"  said  she.  "Is  it  so  much  for  a  man 
who  is  evidently  an  experienced — 'bruiser,'  do  they 
call  it  ? — to  beat  one  who  is  not  ?  I  thought  you 
clever  people  of  the  world — you  of  the  better  class — 
were  proud  of  your  excellence  over  the  others  in  mind 
and  spirit,  not  in  brute  force  or  the  skill  of  a  prize 
fighter.  Is  it  the  part  of  a  gentleman  to  lay  hands 
on  a  creature  like  that  ?  Perhaps  it  is  one  of  your 
new  points  of  etiquette,  such  as  you  were  telling  about 
the  other  evening  at  dinner  !  I  should  have  thought 
you  could  have  sent  him  away  without  that.  It 
would  have  been  natural  and  no  disgrace  for  you  to 
have  been  weaker  than  he  in  body  and  muscle — a  man 
may  well  be  poorer  than  a  brute  in  that ;  but  surely 
with  your  trained  mind  and  soul  you  could  have  made 
him  do  your  bidding  without  scuffling  with  him. 
To  strike  such  a  man  is  to  come  down  to  his  level. 
It's  what  lie  would  have  done  to  you  /" 

"Yes,  he  would,  if  I  had  given  him  the  chance/" 
said  Tom.  "There  seemed  no  other  way  —  at  the 
time." 

"That,"  said  she,  severely,  "is  what  I  complain  of. 
There  ought  to  have  seemed  a  better  way.  I  think 
you  have  changed.  You  would  never  have  done  that 
when  you  were  here  before.  You  would  have  gone 
out  and  subdued  him  by  dint  of  manner,  caste,  and 
intellect." 


262  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

Tom  began  to  think  she  might  be  making  fun  of 
him.  But  her  voice  and  face  were  so  grave  and  so 
sweetly  serious  that  it  seemed  impossible. 

Yes;  she  still  thought  it  was  his  brother.  No  won 
der  he  seemed  changed  !  He, had  not  tried  to  imitate 
Charles  in  any  way  since  he  had  come  to  the  valley, 
and  certainly  his  fight  would  have  been  but  a  poor 
imitation  of  that  careful  and  dignified  personage. 

He  had  been  proud  of  his  fight,  and  was  deeply 
hurt  at  her  thanklessness.  It  was  one  of  his  fail 
ings  to  take  the  words  of  woman  always  in  sober 
earnest. 

When  he  slept  that  night  he  dreamed  that  he  was 
in  a  dark  place  in  the  woods  and  a  tall  man  stood  be 
fore  him.  He  could  just  see  the  outlines  of  the  great 
limbs  and  the  flash  of  a  knife.  He  seemed  to  fight  des 
perately — not  for  himself,  but  for  Leonora.  Then  he 
heard  a  cry  and  saw  the  face  of  the  maiden,  pale  and 
white,  peeping  out  from  a  bush,  and  he  fought  the 
harder,  till  she  cried,  "  Stop  !  You  might  have  fought 
for  me  if  you  had  been  Tom  ;  but  you  have  chosen  to 
be  Tom's  brother,  and  you  cannot  fight  !" 

He  knew  in  his  dream  that  he  had  given  up  his  own 
individuality,  and  he  felt  ashamed  and  slunk  away, 
while  laughter  seemed  to  come  from  the  trees  all 
about  him. 

He  woke  with  the  sense  of  a  great  shame  upon  him. 
feeling  that,  in  this  great  crisis  of  his  life — his  first 
strong  love — he  was  an  impostor  and  a  cheat ;  not 
himself,  but  merely  the  counterfeit  of  another ;  that 
as  himself  he  had  no  right  to  be  there,  had  no  right 
to  Leonora's  acquaintance.  It  was  a  morbid  state  of 
mind  perhaps  —  and  perhaps  not.  At  all  events,  it 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISII  263 

was  becoming  morbid  and  gave  him  no  peace.  Should 
he  tell  her  or  should  he  not  ? 

Sometimes  a  very  small  matter,  alien  to  one's 
thoughts,  ludicrous  perhaps  in  itself,  will  serve  to 
point  a  moral  and  help  one  to  a  decision  when  reason 
and  conscience  alike  fail. 

Moorhead  saw  Moloch  over  at  the  edge  of  the  clear 
ing  sitting  on  a  log.  His  face  was  preternatural- 
ly  gloomy.  He  was  holding  a  stout  piece  of  twine, 
running  it  slowly  through  his  hands.  He  looked  up 
at  the  mountains  and  down  at  the  grass  and  mut 
tered  to  himself,  but  there  was  no  hearing  what  he 
said.  He  seemed  to  be  trying  to  make  up  his  mind 
about  something.  He  frowned  terribly  and  put  his 
hand  to  his  head,  and  then  set  busily  about  making  a 
knot  in  the  cord.  When  this  was  done  to  his  satis 
faction  he  examined  the  undergrowth  near  by,  and, 
after  bending  down  several  saplings  as  if  to  test  their 
strength  and  spring,  he  selected  a  young  cottonwood, 
and  began  to  climb  it  till  it  bent  with  his  weight. 
As  it  leaned  he  swung  down  and  dangled  by  his 
hands,  shifting  his  grip  till  he  had  grasped  the  top, 
which,  bending  lower,  let  hini  slowly  to  the  ground. 
He  tied  the  line  to  the  top  of  the  sapling,  his  counte 
nance  all  the  while  becoming  more  lugubrious,  till  his 
expression  was  as  black  as  the  face  that  wore  it. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  the  man  ?"  said  Tom  to 
himself.  "  Hullo,  Moloch !  what  are  you  doing  ? 
Surely  you  don't  mean  to  hang  yourself  with  that  fish- 
line  I"  he  cried.  "  What's  up  ?  Can  I  help  you  ?" 

"Ah,  Mr.  Moorhead,  sail,"  said  Moloch,  with  a 
short-lived  grin  that  changed  suddenly  to  a  look  of 
unutterable  misery,  "  I  shall  be  mos'  grateful  for  yoh 


264  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

Distance,  sail !  "Would  it  be  too  much  to  ask  yo'  to 
hoi'  down  the  end  of  this  slaplin'  a  minute  ?  No,  sah ; 
I  ain't  goin'  to  hang  maself.  It's  wuss  'n  that  physi 
cally,  but  bettah  morally,  Mr.  Moorhead,  sah  I" 

Therewith,  while  Tom  held  the  end  of  the  cotton- 
wood,  he  fumbled  at  his  face,  and  presently  stood 
with  his  hands  clasped,  and  the  string  dangling  from 
his  mouth,  as  from  that  of  a  hooked  fish. 

"  Now,  if  you  please,  sah,  doan'  let  it  slip  !"  he  said, 
in  a  beseeching  tone,  rolling  his  eyes  apprehensively 
towards  the  bent  cottonwood,  and  lying  down  under 
it  with  his  arms  folded  across  his  big  chest. 

"Now,  Mr.  Moorhead,  sah,  would  you  kindly  sit 
down  on  me,  sah,  an'  hold  my  haid  back  ?" 

"Poor  old  chap!"  said  Tom.  "Is  it  a  very  bad 
tooth  ?  Will  this  work,  do  you  think  ?" 

"Yes,  sah  •  I  hope  it  will,"  said  Moloch,  fervently. 
"Now  bend  the  slaplin'  down  close  to  ma  haid,  sah. 
N-o-ow — when  I  say  '  Free  !' — One  !  Two  !  Free  !" 
Away  went  the  sapling,  and  Moloch  sprang  up  and 
sent  Tom  sprawling  on  the  grass.  A  little  something 
dangled  from  the  top  of  the  young  cottonwood. 

Years  later,  when  that  sapling  shall  have  grown  a 
great  tree  and  been  cut  down,  that  something  will  be 
found,  and  a  learned  gentleman  with  theories  and  a 
taste  for  research  will  write  a  paper  on  the  early  Ind 
ian  method  of  pulling  teeth. 

"  How  are  you  now  ?"  Tom  asked,  with  sympathy. 

"All  right,  sah.  Hurts,  but  nothin'  to  what  it 
was,"  said  Moloch,  cheerfully.  "I  beg  pardon  for 
gettin'  up  an'  frowin'  you  off  so  unceremonious,  but 
at  such  times  a  man  ain't  altogether  self-controlled,, 
sah." 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  265 

"Don't  mention  it/'  said  Tom. 

"Tell  you,  sah,"  said  Moloch,  "there's  no  luxury 
on  earth  like  havin'  a  big  toothache  an'  gettin'  rid  of 
it.  Bettah  hab  it  out  than  bear  it  day  an'  night." 

"  Better  have  it  out  than  bear  it  day  and  night !" 
The  words  kept  repeating  themselves  over  and  over 
in  Tom's  mind,  till  he  said  to  himself,  "He's  right/' 
and  straightway  he  went  in  search  of  Leonora. 


XXIX 

LEONORA  sat  in  the  drooping  loop  of  a  hanging 
vine  with  the  tips  of  her  little  moccasins  just  touch 
ing  the  ground.  One  lovely  arm,  bare  to  the  elbow, 
lay  upward  along  the  vine  and  her  head  rested  in  its 
soft  curve.  The  boughs  arched  above,  the  ferns  grew 
rich  and  deep  on  either  side,  and  behind  her  was  the 
darkness  of  the  forest. 

So  Tom  found  her.  She  heard  his  step  on  the  dry 
twigs,  and  her  wide  eyes  seemed  to  ask  what  he  meant 
by  disturbing  her  in  her  retreat. 

"Miss  Willoughby,"  said  Tom,  "there's  something 
I  ought  to  tell  you." 

The  change  in  her  face  surprised  him.  It  had  been 
calm — a  little  disdainful — rather  weary ;  but  now  a 
gleam  of  some  strong  feeling  came  over  it — a  blend 
ing  of  eagerness  and  anxiety,  of  hope  and  fear ;  but 
she  said  nothing  for  a  while.  He,  not  knowing  how 
to  go  on,  waited  in  deep  embarrassment. 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  tell  me  anything  un 
less  you  wish,  Mr.  Moorhead,"  said  she,  rather  coolly. 
"Why  should  you?  What  have  I  to  do  with  your 
affairs  ?" 

"  I'm  in  for  it  now  !"  Tom  thought,  and  came  right 
to  the  point. 

"  It  is — it's — it  is  that  I  am  an  impostor — a  cheat — 
a  scoundrel — not  fit  to  be  in  your  presence  !" 


LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISH  2G7 

"  Then  why  do  you  stay  in  my  presence  ?"  said  the 
girl.  But  her  voice  was  kind,  and  her  face  had  a  kind 
of  triumph  on  it  that  he  could  not  understand,  and  a 
smile  that  gave  him  comfort  to  go  on. 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it/'  said  he,  bringing  out  his 
words  slowly,  for  each  was  an  effort ;  and  the  impulse 
to  turn  round,  pack  his  goods,  and  disappear  was 
strong  upon  him. 

"About  what  ?"  said  she,  looking  happy  and  a  lit 
tle  mischievous. 

"About  my — my  unpardonable  rascality,"  said  he, 
with  self-accusing  ferocity. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  care  to  hear  of  unpardonable 
rascality,"  said  she. 

"  Please  hear  what  I  have  to  say  !"  he  said,  brusque 
ly,  almost  angrily ;  for  it  is  very  hard  for  a  man  who 
has  determined  to  confess  to  be  deprived  of  the  right 
of  confession,  and  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  she 
should  listen. 

"  I  can't  see  why  you  should  tell  me,  when  I  say  that 
I  hate  such  subjects,"  she  answered,  crossly.  "Why 
not  go  and  tell  my  father  ? — he's  a  great  believer  in 
unpardonable  rascality — or  Moloch  ?" 

"It  doesn't  concern  Moloch,"  said  Tom. 

"'I  do  not  understand  how  it  can  concern  me,"  said 
she,  "or,  if  it  does,  it  surely  concerns  my  father." 

"  No — well,  yes — in  a  way  it  does,  for  I've  been  his 
guest  under  false  pretences,"  said  Tom,  blurting  out 
his  words  fast  and  tingling  with  hot  shame.  "I'll 
tell  him  instead  of  you,  or  do  anything  else  you  tell 
me.  But  if  you'll  let  me,  I'd  much  rather  speak  of  it 
to  you." 

"You'll  do  anything  I  tell  you  ?"  said  she. 


268  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

"Yes." 

"Good/'  said  she.  "That's  like  you.  Norman — 
Charles  Norman,  I  mean — would  have  thought  a  min 
ute,  and  said,  'Anything  in  reason.'  You  are  rash, 
are  you  not  ?  Think  what  things  I  might  bid  you  do. 
And  then  you  must  do  them  or  break  your  word. 
"Well,  then,  if  you'll  really  mind  me,  I  tell  you  to  say 
no  more  about  it,  Mr.  Thomas  Norman  Moorhead." 

She  rose,  dropped  him  a  grand,  low  courtesy,  and 
swept  away  to  the  house,  leaving  him  too  much  aston 
ished  to  speak  or  follow  her. 

"  So  she  knows/'  he  thought.  "How  long  has  she 
known  ?  She  must  have  divined  it,  just  as  Nelly 
Merivale  got  the  fact  of  Charley's  engagement  out  of 
me  and  thought  I  told  her,  when  I  had  never  said  a 
word  about  it  !  Are  all  women  mind-readers  ?"  And 
all  the  sunny  morning  he  wandered  about  alone,  till 
Moloch  waked  the  echoes  with  a  bugle  of  his  that 
meant  lunch. 

Then  he  went  reluctantly  to  the  house,  wondering 
what  was  in  store  for  him.  He  looked  apprehensively 
at  Leonora,  then  at  Mr.  Willoughby.  She  was  sweet 
and  grave  and  happy,  as  it  seemed  ;  her  father  was  as 
usual. 

Afterwards,  when  Mr.  Willoughby  was  deep  in  some 
book  and  Leonora  had  gone  out,  Moorhead  tried  to 
find  her ;  but  all  that  afternoon  she  was  gone  upon 
the  hills. 

In  the  evening  she  treated  him  pleasantly  and 
without  constraint,  seeming  to  think  nothing  of  that 
morning's  conversation. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  he  thought.  "It  cannot  be 
that  she  means  to  be  friends  with  me  now.  She 


LEONORA  OP   THE   YAWMISH  269 

knows,  and  takes  no  notice.  It  must  be  that  she  is 
too  thoroughbred  to  have  a  'scene,'  and  takes  it  for 
granted  that  I  know  enough  to  go — go  at  once — with 
out  any  further  allusion  to  a  painful  subject.  And 
yet  it  did  not  seem  to  distress  her  or  even  make  her 
angry.  She  was  too  proud  to  show  it,  that's  all. 
Of  course  I  must  go.  But  first  I  must  tell  her — tell 
her  the  whole  story  :  how  carelessly  I  undertook  this 
thing,  how  bitterly  I  repented  it  \"  So  he  waited, 
but  she  gave  him  no  chance  to  speak. 

He  hung  about  the  house  when  she  was  there ; 
when  she  had  gone  out  he  wandered  over  the  moun 
tain  trails,  hoping  to  meet  her.  It  was  in  the  course 
of  these  lonely  wanderings  that  he  came  to  a  place 
where  the  narrow  elk-trail  ran  along  a  ridge  that  was 
rocky  and  precipitous  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other 
sloping  and  covered  with  timber.  A  curious  stone 
on  the  ground  caught  his  attention.  He  stooped  to 
look  at  it,  and  stooped  just  at  the  right  time,  for  the 
next  moment  he  was  rolling  in  the  brush  below  the 
trail  with  a  bullet  in  his  left  shoulder. 

"  Whoever  did  that  did  it  on  purpose/''  he  thought. 
"  It  was  a  good  aim  for  my  heart  if  I  had  stayed  as  I 
was." 

He  lay  still,  waiting  further  developments,  master 
ing  his  pain  as  best  he  could,  but  making  no  sound. 
He  never  knew  how  long  he  lay.  A  raven  came 
croaking  and  barking  overhead,  and  watched  him  with 
a  hungry  interest. 

At  last  he  heard  a  cautious  step  upon  the  trail — a 
slow,  stealthy  footfall,  and  evidently  human. 

He  did  not  move.  His  position  was  such  that  he 
could  see  the  ridge  through  the  bushes  that  part- 


270  LEONOHA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

ly  hid  him  from  any  one  who  might  pass  along  its 
top. 

•  The  step  drew  nearer,  and  he  could  see,  on  the 
ridge,  against  the  sky,  a  man  sneaking  along.  He 
could  not  see  the  face,  but  he  knew  the  rags,  the  long 
limbs,  and  slouching  shoulders  for  those  of  the  man 
he  had  fought  and  beaten  for  Leonora.  His  grip 
tightened  on  his  revolver. 

"That  seems  to  explain,"  he  thought.  "  But  I 
must  wait  and  make  no  mistakes.  Better  anything 
than  such  an  error  I" 

The  man  drew  near,  crouching  and  looking  often 
over  his  shoulder,  examining  every  object  about,  peer 
ing  into  the  brush  as  one  hunting  and  hunted  at  once. 
He  stood  just  where  Tom  had  fallen,  and  caught  sight 
of  the  wounded  man's  legs  sticking  out  of  the  brush. 

He  stood  still,  and  watched  them  and  listened.  "  It 
may  have  been  an  accident,'7  Tom  thought.  t(  Per 
haps  he  mistook  me  for  game,  though  it's  not  likely. 
I  can'* t  stand  this  any  longer — I'll  try  him. " 

Tom  moved  his  foot  and  groaned.  Instantly  the 
other's  rifle  went  to  his  shoulder  •  yet  he  waited  a 
moment  as  if  calculating,  from  what  he  could  see  of 
his  victim,  the  position  of  some  vital  part.  Tom  was 
tired  of  waiting.  The  halls  of  the  echoes  rang  with 
a  revolver-shot,  and  the  objectionable  suitor  staggered 
and  fell  backward. 

Tom  crawled  up  on  the  ridge,  and  looked  down 
the  other  side.  Only  a  steep  of  rock  falling  straight 
away  into  the  blackness  of  forest  shade  ;  only  the 
sound  of  roaring  water  from  the  depths,  and  the  raven, 
croaking  and  hovering  lower  and  lower,  a  little  way 
down. 


LEONORA   OF  THE  YAWMISII  271 

The  raven  had  transferred  his  allegiance.  Tom 
dropped  a  bullet  through  his  black  back,  and  watched 
him  falling  into  the  darkness  below.  Then,  spent 
with  pain  and  loss  of  blood  and  the  reaction  from  in 
tense  excitement,  he  went  slowly  back  to  the  cabin  and 
sought  aid  of  Moloch. 

"I  helped  you  in  a  surgical  operation  the  other 
day,"  said  he,  "and  now  it's  your  turn  to  do  some 
thing  for  me."  And  he  told  his  story,  lamenting  what 
had  happened,  and  charging  him  to  say  nothing  of  the 
matter  to  his  mistress. 

"  You  done  just  right,  Mr.  Moorhead,  sah,"  said 
Moloch,  "an7  thank  God  you  ain't  no  worse.  You 
owed  it  to  Miss  'Nora  to  protect  yourself,  sah.  Please 
to  think  of  that  if  it  troubles  you,  sah." 

The  bullet  was  not  hard  to  extract,  and  the  old 
butler  tenderly  ministered  to  the  wound,  and  fed  him, 
and  left  him  to  sleep.  He  slept  well.  It  is  a  dread 
ful  thing  to  have  slain  a  man  in  his  sins  ;  but  he 
knew  he  had  done  right,  and  Moloch's  words,  though 
the  oracle  was  humble  and  the  statement  unlikely, 
comforted  him. 

"You  owed  it  to  Miss  'Nora  to  protect  yourself!" 
If  only  that  might  be  so  ! 


XXX 


IN  the  morning  Moloch  helped  him  to  dress,  put 
him  in  a  cool,  shady  corner  of  the  veranda,  where 
the  sweet  breeze  came  through  the  vines,  and  set 
beside  him  a  table  with  books  and  a  change  of  pipes, 
a  jar  of  fragrant  tobacco,  and  a  cold  jug  of  lemonade, 
tempered  with  good  old  Jamaica  (not  the  ginger),  to 
gladden  his  heart. 

Mr.  Willoughby  came  and  regarded  Tom  with  new 
interest. 

"Are  you  quite  comfortable  ?"  said  he. 

"Thanks,  yes,"  said  Tom. 

"If  you  will  pardon  me  a  personal  remark,"  said 
Mr.  Willoughby,  "I  am  most  happily  disappointed 
in  you,  Moorhead.  It  took  a  cool  head  and  strong 
nerve  to  wait  for  that  fellow,  as  you  did,  without  a 
sign,  with  a  painful  wound  galling  you.  I  did  not 
think  you  had  it  in  you.  When  you  were  here  be 
fore,  you  seemed  a  totally  different  being.  Well,  I 
never  shot  any  one  myself,  but  I  have  often  wished 
to,  and  I  rather  envy  you  the  privilege  of  doing  it 
lawfully.  I  congratulate  you." 

The  old  man  held  out  his  hand,  to  the  great  dis 
gust  of  Tom,  whose  soul  revolted  against  treating 
such  a  matter  lightly. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  am  glad,  indeed,  to  shake  hands 
with  you  as  a  friend  ;  but  pray  understand  that  I  con- 


LEONORA  OP   THE   YAWMISH  273 

sider  what  I  have  had  to  do  a  matter  of  pity,  not 
congratulation." 

"Quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Willoughby,  with  a  slight 
sneer.  "A  very  proper  spirit.  All  the  more  credit 
to  you  for  doing  it  so  well.  But  when  you  know  men 
as  /  do,  you'll  understand  my  point  of  view.  Gentle 
or  simple,  rich  or  poor,  priest  and  layman,  they  are 
much  alike  ;  much  like  that  poor  wretch  who  has  got 
his  deserts  at  your  hand,  except  that  they  have  more 
tact  to  disguise  their  feelings  and  control  their  ac 
tions,  in  fear  of  the  law. 

"  So  they  use  sneers  for  blows,  lies  instead  of  am 
bush  ;  they  give  heartaches  and  agony  of  mind  in 
stead  of  rifle-shots  and  festering  wounds  ;  they  are 
much  the  same  —  fraud  or  force  ;  and  that  is  why, 
when  one  catches  them  jumping  the  limits  of 
their  sheltering  pen,  the  law,  he  is  to  be  thanked 
for  killing  them  for  what  they  are — the  most  danger 
ous  and  treacherous  of  animals  ;  the  only  ones  to 
which  the  devil  can  teach  his  tricks ;  the  only  ones 
he  can  break  to  his  yoke  I" 

Tom  understood  fully  now  the  old  man's  reasons 
for  living  apart  from  his  fellows. 

His  hatred  of  man  amounted  to  a  monomania,  which 
showed  itself  less  in  his  words,  which  savored  too  sad 
ly  much  of  reason,  than  in  his  flashing,  eager  eyes  and 
frowning  brows,  his  clinched  fist  and  heaving  chest. 
"I  tell  you,"  he  began  again — but  Leonora  came  out 
and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  looked  into  his 
eyes,  which  grew  mild  at  the  sight  of  her  sweet  face, 
and  caught  a  tender  light  from  hers.  His  brow  lost 
its  deep  lines ;  he  smiled  and  kissed  her  before  the 
young  man's  envying  face  ;  and,  turning  to  him,  said, 

18 


274  LEONORA  OP   THE  YAWMISH 

gently  :  "  Yet  there  may  be— there  are  human  beings 
that  are  God's  own  creation,  and  have  never  lost  the 
glory  that  He  breathed  into  the  nostrils  of  the  first 
man.  You — you  never  knew  my  wife,  sir." 

And  Mr.  Willoughby  pulled  his  broad  hat  down  over 
his  eyes  and  went  away  to  his  fishing. 

"  My  father  doesn't  mean  half  what  he  says  about 
people,"  said  Leonora.  "  He  was  angry  and  bitter 
when  he  came  away.  He  has  hardly  seen  any  since 
in  all  these  years  ;  so  he  has  had  no  chance  to  change 
his  opinions,  but  has  brooded  over  them  till  he  thinks 
he  really  believes  in  them." 

"  Fm  afraid  too  much  of  them  are  true,"  said  Tom. 

"That  is  nob  the  point,"  said  Leonora.  "What  if 
they  are  ?  I  did  not  say  believes  them,  but  believes 
in  them — thinks  they  are  right  to  act  upon  and  live 
by.  If  only  I  could  get  him  to  see  that,  bad  as  hu 
manity  may  be,  we  are  a  part  of  it  and  not  apart  from  it! 
Well,  sometime,  perhaps,  I  can.  But  you  —  you  have 
had  a  narrow  escape  and  a  hard  experience  :  Moloch 
told  me,  in  spite  of  your  injunctions.  I  can  think 
how  you  must  feel ;  but  it  had  to  be,  did  it  not  ?" 

"  I  suppose  it  had  ;  and  yet  why  should  it  ?  I'd  as 
lief,  if  I  had  thought  of  everything,  have  lain  still  and 
let  him  finish  his  work." 

"Stop  —  don't  speak  so!  Come  —  you  are  down 
hearted  and  suffering." 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said.     "  One  must  not  whine." 

Now,  Leonora  knew  that  it  was  not  only  his  advent 
ure  on  the  ridge  that  troubled  him,  and  he  seemed 
so  unhappy  that  she  relented  and  took  pity. 

"  Can  I  not  help  you  to  be — happier  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  he.     "I  am  downhearted — I  am  suf- 


LEONORA  OP   THE   YAWMISH  275 

fering.  But  it's  not  this — it's  something  else.  You 
can  help  me — no  one  else  can." 

"I  will  —  perhaps,"  said  Leonora,  smiling  beauti 
fully. 

"  It's  what  I  was  telling  you  the  other  clay,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  You  knew  that  before,  though  I  did  not 
think  so  when  I  confessed." 

"I  am  glad  you  told  me  when  you  thought  I  did 
not  know,"  she  said.  "  It  made  a  difference." 

"  I  wonder  how  much  more  you  know  of  what  I  was 
going  to  say  ?  At  all  events,  that  is  what  I  need — 
to  tell  you  all  about  it — everything,  from  the  begin 
ning." 

Her  face  grew  grave  with  something  of  that  anx 
ious  expression  he  had  seen  before. 

"  Go  on,"  said  she.     "  You  may  tell  me." 

"  It  was  a  shameful,  a  wicked  fraud — " 

"  What  was  ?"  said  she.  "  Tell  me  what  happened, 
and  let  me  decide  about  that." 

"I  came  here  intending  to  pass  myself  off  for  my 
brother,"  said  he. 

"  Why  ?"  said  she. 

He  sat  silent  before  her,  thinking :  "Suppose  she 
does  not  know  the  whole  ?  Suppose  she  thinks 
my  brother  still  loves  her  ?  How  can  I  tell  her  he 
does  not?  How  can  I  tell  her  that  /  love  her,  if 
she  does  not  know  about  his  faithlessness — if  by  any 
chance  she  still  cares  for  him  ?  It's  a  hard  thing  that 
a  fellow  must  either  tell  the  girl  he  loves  that  his 
brother  is  a  rascal,  or  seem  to  be  making  love  on  his 
own  account  to  his  brother's  fiancee,  or  say  nothing. " 

"Why  ?"  Leonora  asked  again. 

"I— I  find  I  can't  tell  you  that." 


276  LEONORA   OF  THE   YAWMISH 

"  You  must  tell  me  that.     I  have  a  right  to  ask." 

< '  Then  you  don't  know  ?"  he  said. 

"How  should  I?" 

"  One  thing  I  must  tell  you,"  said  he.  "  I  meant 
to  take  his  place  and  marry  you ;  and  I  consented  to 
try  to  do  so  for  a  price,  before  I  ever  saw  you." 

He  looked  so  miserable  that  a  shade  of  compassion 
came  over  her  face,  and  she  said,  quickly,  "  Forgive 
me.  You  deserve  it ;  but  I  forgot  that  you  were  hurt ; 
and  now — just  because  you  are  ill,  and  for  no  other 
reason — HI  let  you  off  and  not  tease  you  any  more. 
I'm  coming  right  back." 

She  went  into  the  house,  and  brought  back  an  open 
letter  which  she  gave  him. 

"There,"  said  she,  "you've  made  your  confession 
like  a  man,  and  tried  to  shield  your  brother.  Now 
read  that !" 

' '  MY  DEAR  MlSS  WlLLOUGIIBY, — 

"As  a  dear  friend  of  Mr.  Moorhead,  I  write  to  tell  you,  for 
his  sake  and  your  own,  some  bad  news. 

"It  is  best  you  should  know  at  once  that  marriage  between 
you  is  an  impossibility.  I  will  not  try  to  give  all  the  reasons,  of 
which  there  are  many,  why  it  would  not  do— most  of  them  you 
could  hardly  be  expected  to  understand.  You  are  said  to  be  a 
great  reader.  Your  books  will  tell  you  of  the  evils  of  ill-assorted 
marriages.  I  say  this  to  prepare  you  for  what  is  to  come.  He 
has  seen  his  mistake,  and  wishes  (forgive  me  if  I  hurt  you,  but 
it's  better  you  should  know,  as  you'll  see  when  I  have  done)  to 
be  free  from  his  engagement,  for  your  sake  as  well  as  his.  But 
he  will  not— cannot,  as  a  man— break  it  off.  It  is  your  place 
to  do  this. 

"  Being  unable  to  bear  the  idea  of  this  engagement  to  you,  and 
equally  unable  to  write  and  tell  you  so,  he  has  taken  this  singu 
lar  and  unheard-of  way  of  getting  out  of  the  difficulty.  His 
younger  brother,  Thomas  Norman  Moorhead,  who,  in  appear- 


LEONORA  OF  THE  YAWMISII  277 

ance,  is  much  like  him,  is  going  to  visit  you,  and,  if  you  mistake 
him  for  y OUT fiance,  Charles  Norman  Moorhead,  will  carry  out  the 
deception  and  marry  you  in  his  brother's  stead,  if  he  finds  it  his 
pleasure  to  do  so.  It  is  a  wretched  and  foolish  plan,  and  I  think 
it  my  duty  to  warn  you  against  it,  both  to  show  you  how  impos 
sible  and  wrong  a  marriage  between  you  and  Charles  Moorhead 
would  be,  and  to  keep  you  from  marrying  Thomas  Moorhead, 
who  is  a  disgrace  to  his  family,  and  an  adventurer,  of  no  char 
acter  or  means. 

"Very  sincerely, 

"SARAH  J.  BRADLEE. 

"P.  S. — Thomas  Moorhead  is  to  be  paid  a  large  sum  by  his 
brother  for  marrying  you." 

"  Well  ?"  said  Leonora.     "  Is  it  true  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  That  you  are  to  be  paid  ?" 

"Not  now.  It  was  true.  Will  you  let  me  tell  you 
about  it,  or  are  you  too  utterly  disgusted  with  me  ?" 

Leonora  laughed.  "  Curiosity  is  stronger  than  dis 
gust — in  a  woman,"  said  she. 

Tom  told  her  of  his  brother's  new  infatuation  for 
his  old  love,  of  all  the  pressure  so  ingeniously  brought 
to  bear  on  him,  of  his  obligations  to  Charles,  of  the 
marvellous  way  in  which  Mrs.  Merivale  had  extracted 
information  from  him,  of  his  brother's  anger  and  grief, 
of  her  encouragement,  of  how  he  had  said  he  could 
not  support  a  wife,  and  of  his  brothers  offer  to  make 
him  able  to  marry. 

"  I  thought  you  were  not  exactly  a  dramatic  villain," 
said  Leonora.  "You  seemed  more  like  a  schoolboy, 
all  the  time.  But  I  didn't  think  you  were  exactly, 
stupid — not  so  stupid.  Why  can't  you  see — can't  you 
see  ? — that  those  people — your  brother  and  Mrs. 
WhatVher-name — had  it  all  arranged  between  them 


278  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

for  some  reason  ?  Yon  didn't  tell  her  anything ;  she 
knew  all  abont  it  beforehand.  Well — about  the  money. 
Are  you  to  have  it  ?" 

"No!"  said  he. 

"Why?" 

"  Why  ?  Why,  Miss  Willoughby,  what  do  you  take 
me  for  ?  Don't  you  see  how  different  it  all  is  ?  I 
didn't  Jcnoio  you  then.  Since  I  have  known  you  I 
would  no  more  think  of  doing  such  a  thing —  Oh, 
Leonora,  you  have  changed  me  !  I'm  a  different 
fellow  now  !  If  you  would  only  believe  me — here — 
wait  a  minute — I  have  something  to  show  you  !" 

"Don't  get  up/'  she  said. 

"Oh  yes!"  said  he;  "I'm  well  enough  to  walk 
about."  He  went  to  his  room  and  came  back  with  a 
blank  face.  "  I  had  a  letter  too/'  said  he,  "  and  now 
I  can't  find — oh  !  here  it  is.  It  was  in  my  pocket  all 
the  time.  Eead  it.  I  wrote  it  some  time  ago,  but 
there  has  been  no  chance  yet  to  post  it." 

He  tore  off  the  envelope  and  handed  it  to  her.     She 

read,  as  follows : 

* 
"  CHARLES  N.  MOORIIEAD,  ESQ., — 

"I  have  come  to  my  senses. 

"  I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  dishonorable  plan  by 
which  you  have  sought  to  rid  yourself  of  as  lovely  a  woman  as 
the  Lord  has  made. 

"  Keep  your  money,  and,  if  you  are  not  quite  devoid  of  sense 
and  feeling,  give  up  your  silly  infatuation  and  ask  her  to  receive 
you  again. 

"Rest  assured  of  one  thing,  however:  you  shall  not  have  her 
if  it  be  in  my  power  fairly  to  win  her  from  you  ! 

"  I  love  her  too  well. 

"Tnos.  N.  MOORHEAD." 

"I  never  meant  you  to  read  that  last  part,"  said 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII  279 

Tom,  very  red,,  and  looking  away.  "  I  bad  forgotten 
that." 

"  Forgotten — so  soon  ?"  said  Leonora,,  looking  away 
also.  You  are  alike  in  some  things,  then — you  broth 
ers.  " 

They  both  sat  without  a  word  for  a  while.  Then 
Tom  said,  very  gloomily  : 

"  It's  a  pity  my  shoulder's  in  this  fix.  I  ought  to 
go  at  once.  But  I  can't  carry  a  pack.  I  didn't  know 
you  Avhen  I  let  myself  be  hired.  Since  I  have  known 
you  I  have  been  bitterly  ashamed.  I  wish  I  had  met 
you  in  some  other  way  —  not  that  I'd  have  had  a 
chance.  I — but  never  mind.  It's  all  over — now,  and 
there's  no  use  talking  about  it. 

"  I'll  alter  that  letter  before  I  write  to  my  brother, 
and  leave  out  those  words  I  ought  not  to  have 
written." 

"What  words  ?"  Leonora  asked,  glancing  at  him 
and  turning  away  again  while  she  listened  to  the 
answer. 

"  I  had  no  right  to  tell  him  I — I  loved  you." 

"  Let  that  stand,"  said  she.  "  Send  the  letter  as 
it  is." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Tom,  gratefully.  "I'd  rather, 
if  I  may  ;  and,  as  soon  as  I  can,  I'll  relieve  you  of  my 
presence." 

"  Oh  !  I  wouldn't  do  that,"  said  Leonora.  "  I  think  " 
(shyly)  "if  /  had  done  anything  I  was  ashamed  of, 
and  people  didn't  seem  inclined  to  forgive  me  for 
it,  I'd  stay,  and  take  the  consequences,  and — live  it 
down  !" 


XXXI 

TOM  was  soon  free  from  all  bad  effects  of  his  slight 
wound.  To  have  one's  mind  diverted  from  any  ail 
ment  greatly  helps  recovery  (if  it  does  not  lead  to 
carelessness),  and  Leonora  diverted  his  mind  effect 
ually.  Being  a  maiden  of  her  word,,  she  did  not  seem 
inclined  to  forgive  him  too  easily,  and  took  great  care 
that  he  should  not  be  allowed  to  forget  his  offence  in 
a  hurry. 

A  girl  is  armed  by  Nature  with  as  many  subtle  and 
ingenious  instruments  of  torture  as  any  mediaeval 
tyrant  ever  dreamed  of  in  his  happiest  visions,  and 
lack  of  former  practice  seemed  to  detract  in  no  way 
from  her  skill  in  using  them. 

As  a  keen  reader  whose  library  is  limited  by  ad 
verse  circumstances  to  three  or  four  books  knows 
them  word  for  word  and  thought  for  thought,  so 
she,  with  her  few  volumes  of  human  nature  to  study, 
was  quickly  aware  of  every  phase  of  character.  She 
took  pleasure  in  finding  out  Tom's  tender  points  and 
using  them  to  his  grief.  He  was  teased,  snubbed, 
puzzled,  hurt,  disappointed,  and  made  foolish  in  his 
own  eyes,  by  turns,  every  day  and  all.  But  he  liked 
it,  and  was  happy,  because  he  was  out  of  his  false  po 
sition,  himself  again,  clear  of  obligation,  free,  in  the 
eyes  of  Leonora.  One  thing  only  troubled  him,  and 
that  not  nearly  as  much  as  it  ought. 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  281 

He  was  penniless  and  without  prospects.  Most  young 
men  in  love  and  good  health  think  but  lightly  of  such 
small  and  sordid  matters,  and  go  right  on  making 
love,  sure  of  their  happy  destiny  and  the  prosperity 
that  doubtless  lies  in  store  for  them.  "Why  not/' 
they  say,  "when  I  have  you  to  work  for  ?  How  can 
I  fail  ?"  But  Tom  had  had  too  much  trial  of  what 
it  is  to  be  penniless  in  the  world  to  ask  the  girl  he 
loved  to  share  a  life  free  from  all  such  mean  and  mer 
cenary  considerations  as  dollars  and  cents. 

Then  of  course  there  was  also  the  question,  "Would 
Leonora  ever  have  him  at  any  price  ?"  He  would  not 
ask  her  till  he  could  give  her  a  home.  This  plan,  at 
all  events,  he  felt,  with  reasonable  certainty,  would 
give  her  plenty  of  time  to  get  over  her  disappoint 
ment,  if  any,  in  regard  to  Charles.  Had  she  any  re 
grets  about  Charles  ?  When  she  had  thought  that  he 
was  C.  Norman,  during  the  first  few  days  of  his  stay, 
before  Mrs.  Bradlee's  letter  came,  she  had  shown  no 
great  enthusiasm  for  him ;  but  then  girls  were  queer. 

He  would  not  ask  her  any  questions  yet.  He  would 
plan  his  campaign  there  in  the  valley ;  then  he  would 
go  out  and  do  battle  with  the  world,  win  or  lose,  and 
Love  must  bide  the  issue. 

The  more  he  thought,  the  less  practicable  it  all 
seemed.  He  could  not  afford  to  practise  his  profes 
sion,  but  for  what  else  was  he  fit  ?  He  was  no  ac 
countant — no  clerk — no  salesman.  He  had  tried  to 
find  work  before,  and  had  found  only  this — that  every 
honest  and  regular  means  of  subsistence  known  to 
man  demands  one  or  both  these  things — capital  and 
experience. 

For  an  independent  position  one  must  have  capital ; 


282  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

for  a  subordinate  one,  experience  and,  generally,  ref 
erences.  Tom  had -nothing.  He  broached  the  sub 
ject  once,  indirectly,  to  Leonora. 

' '  You  have  your  profession,"  said  she. 

He  laughed.  "  You  might  almost  as  well  say,  in 
these  days,  ( You  have  your  sword/  One  is  as  mar 
ketable  as  the  other.  The  profession  would  be  good 
if  I  could  wait  ten  years  or  so  while  the  public  was 
becoming  aware  of  my  great  value.  The  sword  would 
be  good  if  I  could  go  through  West  Point  first." 

The  sword,  in  fact,  would  be  better,  because  one 
could  pawn  it  in  case  of  great  need;  but  one  can't 
even  do  that  with  a  profession. 

"A  great  many  people  have  risen  from  nothing," 
she  said.  "  One's  always  reading  of  some  one." 

"  One  in  thousands ;  but  of  the  thousands  you  don't 
read;  so  the  one  impresses  you,  and  you  judge  by 
him.  To  be  reasonably  sure  of  success  on  nothing, 
one  must  be  either  a  genius  or  a  fraud." 

"I  can't  say  that  I  have  seen  any  sign  of  your  be 
ing  a  genius,"  said  she,  "and  you  do  not  enjoy — " 

"Being  a  fraud?  No,  I've  had  enough  of  that," 
said  he,  with  becoming  meekness. 

"  Enough  to  satisfy  an  ordinary  person,"  she  add 
ed,  "and  I  think  you  seem  to  be  an  ordinary  person, 
as  well  as  I  can  judge.  So  I  really  do  not  see  how 
you  are  to  become  a  success." 

Tom  stayed  on  in  the  woods,  putting  off  his  depart 
ure  from  day  to  day.  The  cordiality  of  Mr.  Wil- 
loughby's  manner  began  to  fade  as  he  observed  a 
growing  understanding  between  his  daughter  and 
Moorhead. 

"What  is  your  profession,  sir?"  said  he,  one  clay. 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII  283 

"  Law,  Mr.  Willoughby,"  said  Tom. 

"  Doubtless  your  clients  can  ill  afford  to  spare  you 
so  long,  sir,"  the  old  gentleman  suggested. 

Both  men  were  watching  Leonora's  face  to  see  how 
she  would  take  it.  That  lovely  luminary  clouded  with 
a  slight  shade  of  dismay.  Tom  was  delighted  at  this, 
and  the  old  gentleman's  eyes  twinkled  with  a  kind  of 
malice. 

"You  agree  with  me,  Leonora,  that  Mr.  Moorhead's 
clients  must  be  at  a  loss  ?" 

"  It  may  be  they  can  find  other  counsel,"  said  Leo 
nora,  "but  that  is  Mr.  Moorhead's  affair." 

"  I'm  afraid  all  Mr.  Moorhead's  affairs  are  suffering 
for  lack  of  attention,  are  they  not,  Mr.  Moorhead  ?" 
said  the  father.  "It  is  within  the  bounds  of  possi 
bility  that  the  clients  may  be  able  to  find  other  coun 
sel,  for  where  violence  and  treachery,  failure  and  death 
and  evil  are  rife  there  is  never  lack  of  lawyers ;  but 
will  it  be  so  easy  for  Mr.  Moorhead  to  find  other 
clients  ?" 

Leonora  was  on  Tom's  side  in  this  discussion. 
"  Don't  misunderstand  my  father's  speech,  Mr.  Moor 
head/'  she  said,  graciously.  "He  means,  of  course, 
that  where  the  enemies  of  Law  are  many  there  are 
her  knights  in  the  press  of  battle  to  guard  her  and 
aid  her  subjects." 

"I  mean  nothing  of  the  kind,  my  dear  daughter," 
said  Mr.  Willoughby,  coolly.  "  But,  as  you  have  so 
gracefully  put  it,  Mr.  Moorhead's  post  is  where  the 
Law  needs  him,  and  her  subjects — his  clients — need 
him;  and  his  post  has  long  been  deserted." 

"I  think  my  clients — if  I  had  any — would  forgive 
the  desertion,"  said  Tom.  "  But  I  have  none." 


284  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 

The  old  gentleman  smiled,  and  spoke  more  kindly  : 
"  I  do  not  mean  to  be  rude,  my  dear  sir  ;  forgive  me 
if  I  speak  frankly  :  you  have  been  a  friend,  and  nearly 
lost  your  life  by  it.  You  have  adapted  yourself  to 
our  ways,  and,  little  as  I  care  to  see  of  men,  I  have 
had  pleasure  in  your  company  ;  but  our  life  is  not  for 
you,  nor  yours  for  us.  Your  place  is  in  the  world — 
you  have  duties  there.  Doubtless  the  world  can  well 
dispense  with  your  performance  of  them  —  but  you 
cannot.  If  you  intend  to  cast  off,  as  I  have  done,  all 
intercourse  with  men  and  civilization — well  and  good 
—do  so.  But  if  you  mean  to  hold  a  place  among 
men,  you  have  assumed  responsibilities  that  you  can 
not  discharge  here.  A  young  man  must  choose  his 
way,  and,  having  chosen,  must  stick  to  it.  You  are 
wasting  your  time,  and  it  is  not  well  that  you  should 
do  so." 

"All  right,  sir/'  said  Tom.  "  I'm  off  to-morrow." 
He  had  not  meant  to  make  love  to  Leonora  yet.  But 
they  happened  to  be  together,  and  somehow  the  sub 
ject  seemed  to  occur  to  them  both  at  once,  So,  as  a 
ship  that  has  drifted  near  a  lovely  island  and  most  de 
sirable  refuge— the  crew  eager  to  land,  but  afraid  of 
reefs  and  shoals  and  unknown  dangers  round  about — 
stands  off  and  on  and  tries  how  near  it  can  come 
to  land  without  running  aground,  each  shyly  ap 
proached  and  avoided  the  topic,  and  kept  drawing  a 
little  nearer. 

"Will  you  forgive  me?"  said  Tom,  at  last,  "if  I 
ask  you— I  have  a  reason  for  asking— if  it  was  very 
painful  to  you  to  get  that  letter  telling  about  Charles's 
faithlessness  and  folly  ?" 

Leonora  picked  a  spray  of  willow,  and  put  it  in  her 


LEONORA  OF   THE   YAWMISII  285 

hair,  looking  demurely  dismal  and  woe-begone.    Then 
she  burst  out  laughing. 

'/Oh,  so  painful!"  she  cried.  "  You  notice  how 
I've  pined,  how  faded  I  am  getting,  how  I  mope 
and  mourn  ?  Why,  Tom,  nothing  in  the  world  ever 
gave  me  such  pleasure  as  that  letter !  When  your 
brother  came  here  I  liked  him.  Then  he  began  to 
make  love  to  me,  and  I  liked  that.  I'm  afraid  I  was 
worldly—he  taught  me  to  be  worldly — and  I  began  to 
feel  discontented  with  my  dear  valley  and  wish  to  be 
long  to  the  world,  and  go  in  flocks  and  herds  and 
droves,  like  other  folk ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  it  would 
be  pleasant  to  be  his  wife  and  have  the  luxuries  he 
offered  me.  So  I  persuaded  myself — deliberately,  if 
unconsciously,  persuaded  myself — I  cared  for  him. 
But  happily  I  could  not  leave  my  father.  I  stayed 
by  my  duty,  and  that  was  my  safeguard.  For  after 
your  brother  was  gone  I  found  I  did  not  care  for  him; 
that  I  had  made  a  horrible  mistake;  that  it  was  too 
late  to  withdraw,  for  he  had  set  his  heart  on  me,  I 
thought,  and  I  would  not  disappoint  him.  Then  I 
was  miserable.  But  I  made  up  my  mind  to  keep  my 
word  to  him.  Then  you  came— after  a  long,  long, 
miserable  time,  and  at  first  I  thought  you  were  he. 
But  still  you  seemed  so  different.  I  thought,  '  I  be 
lieve  I  can  love  him,  after  all.'  Oh,  what  have  I  said!" 
she  cried.  "  Of  course  I  don't  mean  that,  Mr.  Moor- 
head,"  and  she  reddened  with  shame  at  her  self- 
betrayal,  and  rose  to  go  away. 

"Stay,  stop  one  moment,  please !    Don't  go  away. 
Think — I  may  never  see  you  again,  after  to-morrow." 
"  Well,"  said  she,  crossly,  looking  at  him  with  deep 
disapproval ;  "  what  is  it  ?" 


286  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

"  Leonora,"  he  said,  standing  by  her  and  taking  her 
hand,  "my  brother  told  me  you  would  never  let  him 
kiss  you." 

"'I  should  think  not,"  said  Leonora,  drawing  aloof 
and  eying  him  coldly.  "I  could  never  have  done 
such  a  thing." 

"'Of  course  not.     Leonora  ?" 

"'Yes?" 

"  Couldn't  you — do  you  think — won't  you  let  me 
kiss  you  ?*' 

"'Oh  !    You  ?     You  are  different,"  said  Leonora. 

Next  morning  Tom  was  off  with  Moloch  and  the 
ponies  for  the  sound. 

"  Xow,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  gentleman  to  Leonora, 
looking  hard  at  her  to  see  how  she  took  it,  "'you  and 
I  can  be  at  peace  awhile." 

But  Leonora  did  not  answer.  She  was  supremely 
happy — doubtless  with  the  sense  of  having  conferred 
a  benefit — for,  just  to  show  that  she  bore  no  ill-will, 
she  had  let  Tom  kiss  her  again  before  he  went  away, 
and  she  thought  he  had  seemed  to  like  it. 


XXXII 

TO:M  posted  his  letter  to  his  brother  and  wrote  an 
other,  saying  : 

"Mrs.  Bradlee  was  kind  enough  to  write  and  tell  Miss  Wil- 
loughby  the  circumstances  of  my  coming  here.  You  owe  me 
nothing  for  my  services,  but  I  owe  you  something  for  the  tem 
porary  loss  of  my  self-respect.  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  pay. 

"Marry  Mrs.  Merivale,  and  one  of  these  days  you  shall  see 
Miss  Willoughby  and  your  wife  side  by  side ;  shall  compare 
what  you  have  won  with  what  you  have  lost ;  and  I  think  that 
will  be  enough." 

"And  he  shall  see  them  together/*'  Tom  vowed  to 
himself,  as  he  posted  the  letter — "  my  wife  and  his. 
And  I  will  win  her  ;  and,  what's  more,  I'll  make  that 
old  misanthropical  patriarch  my  very  good  friend  and 
father-in-law  elect,  the  worthy  Mr.  Willoughby,  come 
out  of  that  valley,  so  that  she  can  come,  too,  and 
marry  me,  and  live  like  a  Christian." 

All  of  which,  being  a  man  of  his  word,  he  now  set 
out  to  accomplish,  with  a  strong  constitution,  a  heart 
full  of  hope,  and  a  staff  in  his  hand  of  the  good  yel 
low  cedar  that  grows  far  up  on  the  heights. 

Xow,  to  a  man  who  seeks  work  a  strong  constitu 
tion  means  a  vast  appetite,  a  heart  full  of  hope,  a  ten 
dency  to  be  unpractical  and  chase  delusions,  neither 
of  which  is  well  for  him. 


288  LEONOKA  OF  THE  YAWMISII 

But  a  staff  of  good  yellow  cedar  is  a  right  good 
thing  and  may  work  wonders,  as  we  shall  see. 

Tom  had  but  a  poor  hunt  after  work. 

Leonora  had  told  him  to  see,  first  of  all,  if  lie  could 
not  manage  to  find  something  to  do  at  his  own  pro 
fession,  saying  that  she  liked  lawyers,  so  far  as  she 
had  been  able  to  observe  them  (for  she  had  given  him, 
before  he  went  away,  much  good,  practical  advice, 
such  as  one's  nearest  and  dearest,  of  least  experience 
and  greatest  faith,  pour  freely  into  one's  ears  at  the 
hour  of  one's  setting  out  for  scenes  particularly  un 
known  to  them). 

So,  out  of  respect  to  his  profession,  he  went  about 
among  the  lawyers'  offices. 

Seattle  had  risen  vainglorious  from  its  ashes,  and 
many  more  thousands  had  been  found  to  share  its 
comforts. 

He  went  to  many  an  office  and  was  urbanely  re 
ceived,  but  found  no  likelihood  of  an  opening. 

At  last  he  bethought  him  of  Solomon  Druby. 

"  You  couldn't  have  done  better,"  said  that  gen 
tleman,  heartily,  "than  to  strike  Seattle  just  at  this 
time." 

"  If  I  may  take  up  your  time,  I'd  like  to  ask  a  few 
questions,"  said  Tom. 

Druby  looked  at  his  watch.  "  Time,"  said  he,  "is 
precious.  Brother  —  beg  pardon,  I  didn't  quite  get 
your  name — Brother  Moorhead — but  always,  as  you 
and  I  know,  at  the  service  of  fellow-members  of  the 
Bar." 

"Thanks!  At  what  rent  could  I  get  an  office 
here  ?" 

The  legal  gentleman  brightened,  scenting  business. 


LEONORA   OP   THE    YAWMISH  289 

"  Office  -  rent,  like  everything  else,  is  booming  here 
— 'way  up ;  we  could  let  you  have  a  set  of  offices  in 
this  very  building  at — well,  you  want  the  best,  no 
doubt — a  hundred  and  fifty  a  month." 

"My  limit  is  very  low,"  said  Tom.  "I  am  just 
beginning." 

"I  see — I  see — " 

"  And  what  I  want  to  know  is  not  the  highest  but 
the  lowest  rent  at  which  I  could  get  a  small  office — 
single  room." 

"  I  don't  know  of  any  at  less  than  fifty  dollars  a 
month — in  advance." 

"That's  'way  beyond  me,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  understand,"  said  Druby,  with  sympathy.  "  Bless 
you,  when  I  came  here  to  practise  I  piled  slabs  and  did 
odd  jobs  about  the  wharves  for  a  living.  Well,  why 
not  get  desk-room  in  some  office  ?" 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  pay  for  it  with  my  services  ?" 

"  Possibly — possibly." 

' '  Can  you — on  those  terms  ?" 

"  Well — no,  we  can't.  I  should  like  to  oblige  you, 
Brother  Moorhead,  but  you  see  there  are  several  young 
men  here  already,  and  we've  not  overmuch  for  them 
to  do.  They  merely  take  up  room." 

There  were  several  young  men  there,  and  they  cer 
tainly  were  doing  nothing,  and  did  take  up  room. 
They  came  out  of  their  fits  of  abstraction  and  laughed. 

"  Clients  !"  said  one.  "  Haven't  seen  such  a  thing 
since —  The  others  turned  upon  him  and  frowned 
him  into  silence. 

"  Practice  is  not  as  brisk,  then,  as  it  might  be  ?" 
said  Tom. 

" Practice,"  said  Druby,  confidently,  "is  booming. 

19 


290  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

To  be  sure,  since  the  fire  people  have  been  too  busy 
to  go  to  law  much,  but  they'll  have  to  soon.  You've 
come  to  the  right  place,  sir.  Sorry  we  are  not  in  a 
position  to  do  anything  for  you.  Good-day.  But 
wait.  I'm  still,  incidentally,  in  the  undertaking  busi 
ness,  though  Law  and  Keal  Estate  have  the  prece 
dence,  outwardly,  just  now.  Can  you  drive  a  hearse  ? 
If  so—" 

Tom  declined. 

"I  think  you're  silly,"  said  Druby,  ''downright 
foolish.  A  man's  got  to  begin  at  the  bottom,  you 
know,  and  work  up.  Take  my  advice,  an'  '  witch  th' 
world  with  noble  hearsemanship'  till  you  git  well 
known  in  town  and  see  an  openin'.  Then  fha:ig  up 
your  shingle  on  the  outer  wall/* 

Tom  found  that  the  town  was  flooded  with  lawyers, 
all  trustfully  waiting  for  the  coming  prosperity.  He 
was  inclined  to  believe  that  Solomon  Druby  had  been 
right,  and  that  the  way  to  begin  was  by  piling  slabs 
and  doing  odd  jobs.  But,  alas  !  the  slab-piling  indus 
try  and  the  odd-job  business  alike  were  crowded.  He 
could  not  even  get  employment  digging  on  the  streets. 
He  drew  the  line  at  driving  a  hearse. 

Everybody  assured  him  that  it  was  a  "  great  coun 
try,  that  was  what  it  was/'  and  he  had  "  come  to  the 
right  place,  that  was  what  !"  But  nobody  wanted  him. 

Day  after  day  he  walked  the  streets  with  weary  feet, 
up  and  down,  and  his  little  stock  of  money  dwindled, 
and  nothing  Avas  accomplished,  and  he  found  noth- 
ino-  to  do  till  at  last  he  had  but  two  dollars  in  his 

O 

pocket — enough  to  take  him  back  to  the  woods,  where 
he  could  support  himself  by  hunting  and  fishing.  He 
was  discouraged,  and  did  not  seem  much  in  the  way  of 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH  291 

making  his  fortune  and  doing  those  several  things  he 
had  promised  himself  —  to  get  old  Mr.  AVilloughby 
out  of  the  valley,  marry  Leonora,  and  shame  his 
brother. 

There  sat  in  the  street  an  old  Siwash  squaw,  beg 
ging.  She  was  a  very  old  woman  indeed  ;  her  face 
was  seamed  by  countless  wrinkles,  and  she  was  bent 
and  infirm,  tottering  even  as  she  sat.  She  crooned  to 
herself,  swaying  tremulously  back  and  forth,  and  now 
and  then  greeting  a  passer-by  in  shrill  Chinook. 

A  teamster  backed  his  cart  up  to  the  sidewalk  to 
deliver  a  load  of  furniture.  The  old  woman  was  in 
the  teamster's  way,  and  he  called  to  her  to  get  up  and 
be  off.  But  she  either  could  not  or  would  not  hear, 
and  the  man — a  hulking  brute  of  a  fellow — gave  her  a 
savage  cut  with  his  whip,  and  would  have  followed  it 
up  with  another,  but  Tom,  furious  at  the  sight,  ran 
towards  him  with  a  shout.  The  teamster,  turning, 
gave  him  the  blow,  and,  being  a  much  larger  man  than 
he,  asked  him  what  he  meant  to  do  about  it  ? 

Tom  ran  at  him.  The  teamster  struck  a  downright 
blow  with  the  heavy-wadded  butt  of  his  mule  whip. 
Tom  raised  his  good  stick  of  yellow  cedar  above  his 
head,  slanting  downward  to  the  left,  so  that  the  blow 
slipped  along  its  smooth  length  beyond  his  left  shoul 
der  and  struck  the  air,  throwing  the  enemy  off  his 
balance ;  then,  with  a  quick  turn  of  the  wrist,  he 
brought  the  heavy  staff  round  in  a  wide  swing  of  three 
quarters  of  a  circle,  straightening  his  arm  just  as  the 
circle  was  complete,  and  catching  the  teamster  with 
the  full  force  of  the  blow  on  the  side  of  the  head. 
It  staggered  him,  but  his  head  was  not  his  sensitive 
point,  and  it  would  have  been  a  sad  day  for  Tom  if  a 


292  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

tall  man  had  not  run  across  the  street  to  his  assist 
ance.  The  teamster  jumped  into  his  cart. 

"  Well  done/'  said  the  stranger.     "  Hurt  any  ?" 

"No,"  said  Tom.  But  he  was  hurt,  and  not  very 
well ;  he  had  been  economizing  too  much  ;  he  was 
discouraged,  and  the  excitement  had  made  him  al 
most  hysterical. 

The  old  Siwash  was  raising  her  hands  towards  the 
sun  and  calling  down  blessings  on  his  head  in  her 
strange  tongue. 

The  stranger  looked  hard  at  him,  and  kindly  said : 

"  Anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?  I  love  sand  and  grit, 
and  you  look,  if  I  may  say  so,  as  if  you  wanted  some 
thing." 

"  I  want  a  job,"  said  Tom. 

"  That's  not  such  an  easy  matter.     What  kind  ?" 

"Anything." 

"Had  any  experience  logging?  That  is  my  busi 
ness." 

"  No,"  said  Tom. 

"  Then  I  don't  see  how  I  can  use  you.  That's 
what  I  don't,"  said  the  other;  "but  maybe — hello! 
That's  a  right  good  club  you  hit  him  with." 

"  That's  a  cedar  stick  I  cut  in  the  mountains,"  said 
Tom. 

"  Lemme  look.  Cedar,  eh  ?  So  it  is.  But,  boys  ! 
O  loys,  what  cedar !  Heavy  an'  close-grained,  and 
what  a  polish !  Never  saw  any  like  it  before.  Any 
more  of  it  up  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  hundreds  of  acres.  This  yellow  cedar  grows 
high  up  on  the  Olympics.  So  far,  out  of  reach  for 
all  practical  purposes." 

"  Grow  large  ?" 


LEONORA  OP   THE   YAWMISH  293 

"Immense.     As  big  as  any  trees  I've  seen." 

"  "Way  up  where  no  one  can  get  it  except  the  devil, 
I  reckon  ?" 

"  I  think  it  might  be  got  at." 

"  Might  ?  "Well,  sir,  if  you'll  find  the  way  back 
and  take  one  of  my  timber-cruisers  along  I'll  make  it 
worth  your  while." 

"  I  can't  take  a  man  out  there  at  present,"  said 
Tom.  "  But  Til  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  go  out  and 
do  your  cruising  myself.  I'll  look  it  over  and  see  just 
what  can  be  done,  and  let  you  know." 

"Well,  sir,  it'll  pay  you  to  do  it,"  said  the  lumber 
man,  earnestly.  "  That's  what  !  And  here's  where 
to  find  me."  He  scribbled  an  address  on  an  old  en 
velope.  "  Burns,  of  Shelton — that's  me.  There's  no 
such  wood  as  that  on  the  market ;  and  if  it's  as  plenty 
as  you  say,  the  man  that  brings  it  down  to  the  sound 
makes  his  pile  right  so  !" 

The  next  week  found  Tom  encamped  on  the  ridge 
over  the  valley. 


XXXIII 

THE  autumn  came  and  brought  heavy  showers,  and 
also  a  few  clear,  sharp  days,  when  the  forests  gleamed 
with  hoar-frost:  then  the  long,  continuous  storm, 
which  is  snow  among  the  mountains  and  rain  on  the 
low  woodlands  along  the  salt-water,  set  in.  The  snow 
lay  deep  in  the  valley,  and,  resting  in  masses  on  the 
broad  boughs,  shut  the  light  out  of  the  forest. 

The  river  muttered  under  its  ice,  and  wild  beasts 
came  down  from  the  heights  and  were  seen  among 
the  haunts  of  men. 

Sometimes  a  Chinook  wind,  with  its  warm,  sweet 
breath,  came  like  a  touch  of  spring.  The  heavy  drops 
dripped  tinkling  and  pattering  from  the  trees  ;  the 
forest  was  splendid  with  icicles  ;  the  mountains  thun 
dered  one  to  another  with  the  sound  of  new-born 
torrents,  and  the  river  roared  and  rose  high  over  its 
banks,  flooding  the  lowlands,  and  making  an  island 
of  the  knoll  where  Leonora  lived  and  waited  for  the 
spring.  It  was  a  glad  winter  for  her,  full  of  relief 
from  past  trouble,  and  of  promise  for  the  days  to 
come. 

Tom  had  come  to  the  valley  late  in  the  summer, 
and  had  built  himself  a  hut  on  a  shelf  of  the  ridge. 
He  had  had  a  long  talk  with  Moloch,  and  Moloch  had 
grinned  and  promised  aid.  Between  them  they  had 
accomplished  great  ends  ere  the  winter's  long  storm 


LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII  295 

began,  and  Leonora  had  helped  them,  doing  a  good 
man's  work  with  axe  and  chain  upon  the  slopes. 

Mr.  Willoughby  had  known  nothing  of  all  this.  He 
had  been  revelling  in  Voltaire  all  winter. 

So  when  the  rain  had  grown  less  chill  day  by  day, 
and  the  river  had  risen  nearly  to  the  clearing  in  its 
last  great  spring  flood,  and  had  gone  down,  leaving 
green  grasses  and  budding  shrubs  along  its  banks — 
when  the  snow  was  all  gone  except  on  the  heights  and 
northern  slopes,  and  the  forest  rang  with  the  song  and 
twitter  of  mating  birds — the  old  gentleman,  having 
gone  far  down  the  river  to  the  end  of  the  valley  to 
renew  his  acquaintance  with  his  speckled  friends,  and 
sitting  by  a  favorite  pool  in  immense  enjoyment  of 
his  solitude,  was  surprised  and  infinitely  disgusted  to 
see  a  party  of  men,  with  packs  and  rifles,  coming  up 
the  trail  in  single  file  and  examining  the  country  as 
they  came. 

He  drew  back  into  the  brush  to  watch  them  unob 
served. 

They  were  led  by  a  lean,  wiry,  sharp  -  eyed  fellow, 
with  the  long,  light  step  and  spring  of  the  knee  that 
mark  the  practised  mountaineer.  One  of  the  others 
was  a  great  burly  man,  whom  they  called  Burns.  The 
rest  carried  axes  and  surveyors'  tools. 

"Here's  the  place,  Mr.  Burns,"  said  the  leader, 
stopping  and  turning  to  the  portly  soul,  who  puffed 
and  blew,  and  looked  at  the  river  and  then  up  to  the 
ridge. 

His  eye  brightened.  "  That's  the  stuff  up  there," 
said  he;  "hundreds  and  hundreds  of  acres,  just  as 
he  said.  Now,  how  does  he  think  to  get  it  down, 
Sam  ?" 


296  LEONOKA   OF   THE  YAWMISII 

"You  see  that  rock/'  said  the  timber  -  cruiser,, 
pointing  where  the  river  swerved,  foaming  and  ed 
dying  round  a  gray  mass  of  stone  that  had  fallen  long 
ago  from  the  ridge,  "and  you  see  the  gulch  below  it 
—the  old  river-bed.  You've  seen  that  old  channel 
all  the  way  up  from  where  it  runs  into  the  present 
course,  and  how  straight  an7  deep  an7  clear  it  is  ?" 

"That's  what,"  said  Burns. 

"He  was  dead  right  when  he  said  it  wa'n't  goin'  to 
take  much  blastin'  to  coax  the  stream  back  where  it 
used  to  be  when  that  rock  come  in  an'  slewed  it  off, 
wa'n't  he,  Somers  ?" 

"Dead  right,"  said  a  man  carrying  a  note -book. 
"A  gang  of  hands  to  clear  that  loose  stuff,  a  blast 
here  and  there,  a  few  trees  felled  across  the  stream 
where  she  runs  now,  and  away  she  goes  in  the  old 
course,  fit  to  carry  your  logs  ten  abreast  clear  to  the 
sound." 

"That's  what !"  said  the  chorus. 

"  Well,  you  may  make  your  specifications,  and  we'll 
go  up  and  look  at  the  timber." 

"All  right !  Here's  the  blazed  tract  he  spoke  on," 
said  the  timber  -  cruiser ;  and  the  party  filed  up  the 
ridge  above  the  bend  of  the  river. 

Leonora  had  never  seen  her  father  so  disturbed  as 
when  he  came  home  that  night. 

"  They've  come  at  last,"  said  he.  "  There  is  a  party 
of  men  down  at  the  foot  of  the  valley  making  arrange 
ments  to  cut  the  timber  off  the  ridge  and  float  it  down 
the  river."  His  voice  was  that  of  a  heart-broken  man. 

She  said  nothing,  but  came  and  stroked  her  father's 
hand,  and  felt  guilty  and  ashamed.  For  was  she  not  a 
party  to  this  outrage  ?  Moorhead  had  persuaded  her ; 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  297 

she  had  allowed  herself  to  listen  to  his  plans,  and  had 
helped  him,  knowing,  but  not  realizing,  how  it  would 
ruin  her  father's  peace. 

Now  the  old  man  sat  with  head  bent  down  and 
trembling  lip.  "  In  a  little  while,  dear,"  he  said,  in 
a  querulous  voice,  "the  valley  will  be  laid  waste. 
Throngs  of  rough  boors  will  corne  and  camp  at  our 
very  door — we  cannot  prevent  it ;  the  peace  we  love 
will  be  driven  away  with  the  sound  of  axes  and  saws 
and  shouting  men  by  day,  of  drunken  blasphemy  by 
night.  Our  lovely  home  will  be  but  a  barren,  treeless 
waste,  strewn  with  wreckage  and  the  mutilated  limbs 
of  the  old  giants  that  have  watched  over  us  so  long. 
The  place  of  your  mother's  grave  will  be  no  longer 
sacred ;  these  barbarians  will  overrun  everything,  and 
bring  ruin  and  destruction  with  them.  I  cannot  stay 
to  see  it;  and  I  am  too  old  to  seek  a  new  home  in 
the  mountains.  What  is  there  left  but  to  go  back  to 
men  and  cities,  to  dusty  streets  and  ugly  structures,  to 
lies  and  meanness,  jealousy  and  selfishness,  bickering, 
malice,  everything  foul,  everything  I  hate  ?" 

Leonora  could  not  give  him  a  kiss  of  comfort,  could 
not  even  speak  ;  it  would  have  been  hypocrisy. 

By -and -by  he  said,  more  quietly:  "It  may  be 
better  so.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  gone  before :  I 
promised  your  mother,  and  year  by  year  I  have  put 
it  off.  It  may  be  I  should  never  have  kept  my  word 
to  her  but  for  this.  Yes,  she  would  rather  have  it 
so  than  that  I  should  stay  on  and  let  you  waste 
your  beauty  in  the  forest,  my  daughter.  I  owed  it 
to  her,  and  ought  to  have  kept  my  promise  to  her, 
and  now  it  is  well  that  I  must  do  so." 

Then  Leonora  was  comforted,  and  kissed  him,  and 


298  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII 

told  him  how  they  would  find  a  home  in  some  quiet 
place  where  he  could  pass  a  peaceful  life. 

"Moloch  cannot  keep  on  working  for  us  always, 
father/'  said  she.  "  There  will  come  a  time  when  his 
strength  will  leave  him,  and  he  must  rest ;  and  then 
what  would  become  of  us  if  we  were  here  ?  We 
could  bear  the  summers,  but  if  winter  found  us  here 
alone  ?  He  and  you  have  earned  your  rest ;  and 
could  you  rest  here,  with  only  a  girl  to  hunt  for  you 
and  get  in  wood  and  strengthen  the  house  against 
the  winter  storms  ?  Yes,  it  must  be  sometime.  Why 
not  now  ?" 

She  left  him  in  a  happier  state  of  mind,  and  went 
out  and  met  Moorhead,  who  was  waiting  for  her  on 
the  mountain  trail,  by  a  tree  which  was  their  place  of 
meeting,  and  in  whose  friendly  hollow  they  put  letters 
for  each  other. 

"They  have  come,"  said  Tom,  "and  everything  is 
in  trim." 

"He  knows  it,"  she  answered.     " He  saw  them  and 
heard  them  talking." 
"  How  does  he  take  it  ?" 

"He  was  miserable  at  first;  he  seemed  ready  to 
break  down.  I  was  afraid  for  him.  But  he  suddenly 
remembered  that  he  had  promised  to  go,  and  ought  to 
have  gone  before.  I  almost  fancy  that  he  likes  the 
idea,  now  he's  made  up  his  mind  to  it." 

"Then  there's  one  thing  accomplished.  Now, 
'Nora,  it's  all  done.  This  yellow  cedar  is  valuable, 
you  know,  and  this  is  the  only  place  that  has  been 
found  where  it  is  accessible.  I  have  every  strip  of  it 
under  control.  Moloch  and  I  filed  claims  on  part  of 
it,  you  know.  There  was  a  lot  left,  and  I  got  six  men 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWAIISII  299 

to  come  out  here  and  file  011  the  rest  of  it,  on  condition 
that  I  would  agree  to  buy  of  them  at  a  certain  price 
and  time.  Burns,  as  soon  as  I  convinced  him  what 
we  had  here,  formed  a  company  to  come  out  and  work 
the  cedar ;  and  the  whole  thing  has  only  been  waiting 
till  the  State  should  accept  the  survey — the  survey 
that  you  and  Moloch  and  I  made — so  that  the  claims 
would  hold.  The  survey  was  accepted  last  week. 
Yesterday  I  transferred  Moloch's  claim  and  mine 
and  my  rights  in  the  other  six  claims  to  the  company 
— part  payment  cash  and  part  in  shares.  Why,  even 
Moloch's  a  capitalist  to  -  day.  It's  the  only  yellow 
cedar  in  the  market.  The  quality  is  perfect,  the 
supply  enormous.  So,  as  I  said,  I'm  rich.  But  that 
isn't  the  point,  Leonora." 

"  Oh  !  what  is  the  point  ?" 

"  That  I  shall  have  you,  and  you  me.  So  what  does 
it  matter  about  anything  else  ?" 

Soon  a  great  force  of  loggers  were  encamped  in  the 
valley.  All  day  the  hills  echoed  with  harsh  sounds ;  the 
frightened  deer  fled  far  into  the  mountains ;  hawk  and 
eagle,  scared  from  their  ancient  strongholds,  hung 
poised  against  the  blue,  watching  the  strange  things 
that  came  to  pass  ;  by  night  the  camp-fires  lighted  the 
ridges  on  either  side;  and  rude  songs  and  hoarse 
laughter  frightened  away  the  silence  of  the  doomed 
forest. 

Mr.  Willoughby  was  furious,  and,  after  a  short 
time,  talked  of  nothing  but  getting  out  of  this  camp 
of  savages  into  civilization. 

"Mr.  Moorhead,  I  don't  know  how  far  you  are 
responsible  for  this  change  in  our  lives,  and  will  not 
inquire.  It  had  to  be  made,  and  for  my  daughter's 


300  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

sake,  and  for  no  other  reason,  I  am  not  altogether 
sorry.  One  favor  I  ask  of  you,  and  if  you  have  caused 
our  exodus  it  is  the  more  your  duty.,  I  am  leaving 
behind  the  spot  I  hold  most  sacred  on  earth  —  the 
grave  of  my  wife.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  that  when 
I  am  gone,  and  there  is  none  to  guard  that  spot,  it 
shall  be  held  sacred  no  longer — trampled  and  dese 
crated  and  forgotten.  If  you — " 

"  I  will  prevent  it,  sir/'  said  Moorhead. 

That  afternoon  he  explained  the  situation  to  Barns, 
who  put  men,  cattle,  tackle,  and  derricks  at  his  dis 
posal.  By  afternoon  the  cross  and  cairn  having  been 
tenderly  removed  by  Leonora's  and  Tom's  and  Mo 
loch's  own  hands,  a  great  fragment  of  rock  came 
swinging  and  rolling  by  lever  and  derrick  down  the 
ridge,  and  was  gently  lowered  on  the  grave,  so  cover 
ing  it  that  the  foot  of  man  might  never  disturb  the 


sacred  earth. 


XXXIV 

THE  west  wind  brought  home  the  news  of  Leono 
ra's  marriage  and  heralded  her  coming,  and  the  peo 
ple  wondered.  They  wondered  who  was  this  person, 
and  why  had  one  of  the  Moorheads  married  her  ? 

Then  Mrs.  Norman  Moorhead,  late  Merivale,  nee 
Trask,  was  sore  at  heart  with  a  trouble  she  had  not 
foreseen.  She  was  far  more  fond  of  her  husband  than 
she  had  ever  meant  to  be  of  any  one,  and,  being  of  a 
jealous  disposition,  began  to  fear  the  effect  upon  him 
of  Leonora's  arrival.  How  much  of  his  defection  from 
that  former  allegiance  was  due  to  her  own  superior 
charm?  How  much  to  his  forgetfulness  of  Leonora  ? 
These  questions  troubled  her  night  and  day ;  she  be 
gan  to  hate  the  woman  whose  happiness  she  had  not 
scrupled  to  destroy,  and  who  might  well  ruin  hers  in 
turn.  She  did  a  silly  thing.  She  went  about  (to 
make  Leonora's  debut  easy  for  her)  hinting  what  man 
ner  of  person  was  likely  to  come  out  of  the  backwoods, 
and  suggesting  that  folk  ought  not  to  expect  too  much 
of  her  in  the  way  of  manners,  dress,  or  conversation, 
and  that  it  would  be  well  to  be  lenient  towards  any  little 
gaucheries  that  such  a  woman  might  be  apt  to  display. 
Her  efforts  in  behalf  of  her  sister-in-law  were  so  suc 
cessful  that  Mrs.  Thomas  Moorhead  became  famous. 

It  was  said  that  her  husband  had  married  her, 
partly  for  money,  somehow  suddenly  amassed  by  her 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISII 


pioneer  father  in  a  sober  interval,  and  partly  for  a 
kind  of  coarse  beauty  bred  of  an  outdpor  life. 

That  he  had  married  her  (for  Charles  Moorhead's 
household  had  caught  a  significant  word  or  two,  and 
there  are  people  who  will  listen  to  the  gossip  of  their 
friends'  servants)  at  the  instance  of  his  brother,  who 
had  been  wise  enough  to  wish  to  break  his  own  en 
gagement  to  her,  and  had  paid  a  good  round  sum  for 
the  privilege. 

That  she  would  give  a  rare  exhibition  of  the  ways 
of  the  wild  wood  and  express  her  feelings  in  choice 
bits  of  Western  slang. 

That  she  was  not  altogether  a  Caucasian,  and  spoke 
Chinook  when  excited. 

It  was  agreed  that  Tom  didn't  care,  so  long  as  the 
pecuniary  consideration,  whether  from  his  brother  or 
father-in-law,  was  forthcoming. 

It  was  felt  to  be  a  sad  pity  that  this  should  have 
happened  to  Tom  just  when  his  rehabilitation  had 
begun  to  seem  so  real  and  thorough. 

Mrs.  Bradlee  was  sadly  put  out.  "  I  have  been  a 
mother  to  those  boys  !"  she  complained.  "  I  saved 
Norman  from  that  dreadful  entanglement— and  I  did 
my  best  for  poor  Tom  when  I  heard  of  his  infatuation  ; 
I  actually  wrote  to  the  girl  herself,  and  explained  in 
the  kindest  way  how  utterly  impossible  it  was  that  she 
should  marry  either  of  them.  But  it  was  not  to  be 
supposed,  of  course,  that  any  sense  of  the  fitness  of 
things  could  be  brought  home  to  such  a  person.  Well, 
he  has  taken  his  own  course,  and  he  must  '  dree  his 
weird ' !" 

"  Then  you  knew  of  it  beforehand  ?"  said  an  in 
quisitive  friend. 


LEONORA  OF   THE   YAWMISH  303 

"And  the  elder  brother  was  engaged  to  her,  too  ?" 
said  another. 

"  Oh,  do  tell  us,  Mrs.  Bradlee  !" 

The  good  lady  was  not  quite  prepared  to  answer 
all  these  questions,  and  there  was  a  moment  of 
silence. 

Mr.  Timmons,  who  had  come  to  call,  had  fallen 
unawares  into  a  large  feminine  assemblage,  and  had 
waited  long,  careless  of  his  tea,  upon  the  edge  of  his 
chair,  biding  his  chance  to  speak,  seized  the  oppor 
tunity. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  he,  "  that  Tom  Moorhead's 
'  weird'  is  none  so  hard  to  'dree/  " 

The  ladies  looked  at  him  with  cold  disapproval. 

"  Why  ?"  said  one. 

"  Pray  let  us  have  the  grounds  of  your  opinion," 
said  another. 

"  Mr.  Timmons's  ideas  are  always  so  original/'  said 
a  third. 

"  I've  seen  her/'  said  he, 

Never  was  man  raised  more  suddenly  from  utter 
insignificance  to  the  pedestal  of  popular  favor  and 
importance. 

Metaphorically,  the  ladies  threw  themselves  at  his 
feet. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Timmons  !" 

"  When  ?" 

"Where?" 

"What  is  she  like?" 

"  Oh,  how  nice  of  you  to  come  and  tell  us  !" 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  us  before  ?" 

"I  couldn't,  without  interrupting,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  we  are  waiting  !"  said  they. 


304  LEONORA   OF    THE   YAWMISH 

Timmons  smiled,,  close -lipped.  He  would  be  re 
venged  for  their  late  indifference. 

"I  met  them  in  Montreal,"  he  said.  "They  will 
be  here  in  a  few  days — or  a  week  or  so." 

Again  the  chorus  : 

"  What  is  she  like  ?     Oh,  tell  us  all  about  her  !" 

"  I  fear  my  descriptive  powers  are  hardly  up  to 
it,"  said  Timmons,  modestly.  "  Then,  my  judgment 
may  be  at  fault.  I  hardly  dare  try  to  describe,  much 
less  express  an  opinion  on,  a  subject  of  such  intense 
interest." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Timmons!" 

"  Til  tell  you  what  to  do  :  Call  upon  her,  and  in 
vite  her — when  she  comes.  Then  you  can  see  for 
yourselves."  And  Timmons,  smiling  blandly,  made 
his  adieux. 

"  Invite  her,  indeed  !"  said  the  ladies.  And  yet, 
when  Leonora  came,  she  found  herself  both  called 
upon  and  invited. 

"  How  many  friends  you  have,  Tom,  and  how  kind 
they  are  !"  said  she. 

"  Very  !"  Tom  grinned  cheerfully.  He  knew  that 
all  these  cards  and  courtesies  were  the  result  of  curi 
osity,  for  Timmons  had  given  him  some  hints  as  to 
the  trend  of  common  talk.  He  looked  forward  with 
keen  pleasure  to  the  dawning  of  his  bride's  loveliness 
on  an  unenlightened  community,  and  was  not  disap 
pointed.  They  went  where  they  were  bidden,  and, 
as  the  snows  in  her  own  valley  at  the  coming  of 
spring,  the  chill  of  reserve  and  prejudice  melted  away 
before  her  presence ;  as  the  flowers  open  in  the  new 
warmth,  kindly  thoughts  and  good  feelings  answered 
her  sweet  and  genial  nature  everywhere. 


LEONORA  OF   THE  YAWMISH  305 

People  turned  upon  Mrs.  C.  Norman  Moorhead  and 
demanded  explanations.  The  latter  saw  Leonora 
once,  went  home  early  with  a  sinking  heart,  and  from 
that  time  did  all  she  could  to  keep  the  susceptible 
Charles  out  of  her  way.  She  might  have  succeeded 
— for  he  shrank  from  meeting  either  his  brother  or 
his  brother's  wife  —  but  for  the  fondness  of  Mrs. 
Bradlee  for  usurping  the  functions  of  Destiny.  That 
lady,  beholding  Leonora,  and  forgetful  of  her  own 
recent  remarks,  had  easily  persuaded  herself  that 
her  letter  had  been  intended  to  warn  the  maiden 
against  any  lingering  regard  she  might  have  had  for 
the  faithless  Charles,  and  to  make  the  way  clear  for 
the  deserving  Thomas.  She  went  here  and  there, 
exulting,  to  claim  the  whole  credit  of  having  con 
ferred  Leonora  upon  the  civilized  world. 

Meanwhile  the  Moorheads  never  met.  Each  of  the 
brothers  had  something  to  say  to  the  other ;  but 
Charles,  for  whom  the  task  was  likely  to  be  anything 
but  pleasant,  put  oif  the  meeting  by  every  means  in 
his  power;  and  Tom,  eager  as  he  was,  could  never 
find  him. 

The  elder  brother  was  very  unhappy  at  this  time 
because  of  his  wife,  whose  conduct  towards  him  had 
utterly  changed.  She  watched  him  as  if  she  would 
not  let  him  out  of  her  sight,  yet  had  hardly  a  kind 
word  or  look  for  him.  Her  brightness  and  charm  of 
manner  were  gone ;  she  was  sad  and  dull  and  cross. 
He  could  not  understand,  nor  would  she  give  any  ex 
planation  of  the  change. 

Now  people  began  to  talk  freely  of  these  things, 
and  Mrs.  Bradlee,  grieved  that  any  combination  of 
circumstances  should  exist  without  her  intervention, 

20 


306  LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH 

undertook  the  formidable  task  of  peace-making.  To 
this  end  she  determined  to  assemble  the  hostile  Moor- 
heads  about  her  own  hospitable  board,  and,  seeing 
no  other  means,  asked  them  all  to  dinner,  saying  to 
Charles  and  his  wife,  "There  will  be  no  one  but  our 
selves."  She  appeased  her  conscience  by  explaining 
to  it  that  "'ourselves'"  (whatever  her  guests  might 
understand  by  the  word)  meant  "the  family." 

When  escape  was  no  longer  possible  Charles  found 
himself  taking  Leonora  in  to  dinner,  while  Nelly  laid 
two  cold  fingers  on  the  arm  of  Thomas  and  walked 
in  bitter  wrath  beside  him  into  the  gloom  of  Mrs. 
Bradlee's  dining-room. 

Regarded  strictly  as  a  dinner-party,  the  feast  was 
not  a  success.  Mrs.  Bradlee  beamed  upon  her  guests, 
but  beamed  in  vain,  and  began  to  wish,  for  once  in 
her  life,  that  she  had  not  meddled.  Charles  sat  down 
cast  at  her  right,  afraid  to  meet  the  eye  of  Tom,  op 
posite,  or  speak  to  Leonora  by  his  side,  and  cast  now 
and  then  a  furtive  and  deploring  glance  at  his  wife, 
who  gave  him  no  sympathy.  She,  at  the  farther  cor 
ner,  saw  his  miserable  face  and  thought,  "He  repents 
his  choice  already."  So  her  self-possession  and  easy 
flow  of  words  deserted  her,  and  she  sat  with  burning 
eyes  and  a  voice  like  a  low  winter  wind,  and  bore 
it  all  as  best  she  might.  Tom  watched  his  brother 
sharply  with  a  kind  of  savage  amusement,  thinking 
the  same  that  Nelly  thought,  and  adding,  "And 
before  I've  done  with  him  he'll  be  sorrier  still." 

Mrs.  Bradlee  had  intended  to  put  them  all  in  good- 
humor  with  a  conciliatory  speech,  and  even,  if  nec 
essary,  to  bring  up  the  subject  of  their  differences, 
smooth  it  over  with  a  jest,  and  laugh  it  off  ;  but  those 


LEONORA  OP  THE  YAWMISH  307 

three  gloomy  faces  frightened  her ;  she  saw  that  the 
trouble  was  beyond  her  depth,  and  her  tact  was  not 
equal  to  the  task  in  hand. 

Only  Leonora  was  completely  at  her  ease.  She  had 
nothing  whereof  to  be  ashamed.  She  bore  no  one  ill- 
will,  and  she  had  the  absolute  fearlessness  of  inexpe 
rience  and  the  joy  of  youth  in  a  new  state  of  things. 
She  talked  pleasantly  to  all  the  rest.  Her  sister-in- 
law  tried  to  snub  her  and  did  not  succeed;  Charles 
answered  her  with  faint  civility  and  wished  she  would 
let  him  alone  ;  Tom  was  silent  and  abstracted.  Mrs. 
Bradlee  was  heartily  grateful  to  her,  and  showed  it  in 
voice  and  manner. 

At  last  the  awful  function  was  over,  the  ladies  went 
up-stairs,  and  the  two  brothers  were  left  together  in 
the  gloom  of  Mrs.  Bradlee's  dining-room. 

No  one  could  have  mistaken  one  for  the  other 
now. 

The  one  had  a  stalwart,  upright  frame,  a  well- 
browned  face,  fresh  as  a  boy's,  but  full  of  energy  and 
strength  of  purpose ;  trouble,  hardship,  love,  labor, 
success,  and  triumph  had  made  a  man  of  him. 

Charles  looked  much  older,  pale  and  thin ;  his 
shoulders  drooped  ;  his  face  was  full  of  care,  ill  borne, 
and  something  he  had  on  his  mind  at  the  time  gave 
him  a  hang-dog  look. 

"  Tom,"  said  he,  in  a  pleading  tone  that  irritated 
his  brother. 

"Well?" 

"  My  dear  brother,"  he  said,  fretfully,  "I  wish  you 
would  take  the  money  and  other  property  I  offered 
you.  It's  only  right  you  should  ;  it  is  your  share  of 
the  estate,  you  know,  and — " 


308  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISH 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Tom.  "  I  don't  care  to  hear 
of  it." 

"Have  patience  a  minute.  You  don't  know  why 
I  made  you  that  offer,  or  how  much  your  taking  it 
would  mean  to  me  !"  And,  stammering  much,  Charles 
made  a  clean  breast  of  the  part  he  had  played  in  dis 
inheriting  his  brother,  and  of  his  project  for  repaying 
him  without  the  bitterness  of  confession.  "  You'll 
take  it  now,  won't  you  ?"  he  asked,  piteously. 

Tom  was  deeply  touched  at  his  brother's  shame, 
but  would  not  show  it.  He  had  something  else  to  say 
first — a  taunt  he  had  treasured  up  against  him,  and 
had  waited  for  too  patiently  to  forego. 

"Give  it  to  some  charity,  if  you  like,"  said  he. 
"From  what  you  say,  you  would  seem  to  have  earned 
it,  after  a  fashion  of  your  own.  I'm  not  surprised. 
You  are  very  welcome  to  the  whole." 

"  But  you'll  need  it !"  said  Charles,  more  unhappy 
than  ever  in  being  denied  his  atonement. 

"  I  ?  Man,  I  could  buy  you  out — you  and  your  offer 
three  times  over  !"  said  Tom,  brutal  in  his  indepen 
dence.  "  No,  let  that  pass.  I  could  easily  forgive  all 
that,  but  you  did  me  a  worse  wrong  when  you  put  me 
under  obligations  to  you  and  deprived  me  of  my  self- 
respect,  so  far  as  to  make  me  enter  into  your  place  to 
cheat  the  woman  you  thought  hopelessly  in  love  with 
you.  She  never  was.  I  have  promised  myself  my 
revenge — to  bring  her  and  your  wife  together,  and  let 
you  see  them — what  you  have  won  and  what  you  have 
lost.  What  do  you  think  now  ?  How  could  you  throw 
away  your  chance  of  her — for  your  wife  ?  What  do 
you  think  ?  Were  you  not  a  fool  to  make  the  ex 
change  ?  Are  you  not  sorry  for  it  now  ?" 


LEONORA   OF   THE   YAWMISH  309 

He  hated  himself  for  the  words  as  soon  as  they  were 
spoken.  It  was  a  mean  revenge,  he  felt,  a  dastardly 
thing  to  do — to  show  a  man  his  wife's  inferiority  to 
another  woman. 

But,  to  his  surprise  and  immense  relief,  his  brother 
smiled  and  said,  looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes  for 
the  first  time,  so  that  he  knew  he  spoke  the  truth  : 

"  Tom,  you  don't  understand.  Leonora  is  a  lovely 
woman,  and  I  believe  that  you  are  worthy  of  her  and 
that  I  am  not.  But  so  is  Nelly,  my  wife..  I  love 
her,  Tom,  and  you  could  not  disparage  her  in  my  eyes 
if  you  put  her  beside  a  woman  ten  times  lovelier  than 
even  your  wife.  She  and  I  were  made  for  each  other." 

"  Charley,"  said  Tom,  "  you're  a  better  fellow  than 
I  ever  knew  you  were.  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was 
angry  ;  and  thank  God  my  words  have  not  touched 
you.  Come,  let  us  go  to  our  wives." 

Later  Tom  told  Nelly  what  he  had  said  to  Charles. 
It  was  hard  to  tell,  but  he  prefaced  it  so  kindly  and 
spoke  so  gently  that  she  listened  in  spite  of  herself, 
and  when  he  had  repeated  what  Charles  had  said  to 
him  she  went  to  her  husband  with  a  happy  face,  and 
he,  relieved  of  his  trouble  and  the  burden  of  his  con 
science,  was  content, 

Nelly  had  suffered  terribly  for  fear  of  Leonora  ;  but 
when  that  was  over,  Tom's  wife  soon  won  her,  and 
found  her  a  stronger  friend  than  she  had  been  an 
enemy. 

There  is  a  tall,  stately  old  gentleman  who  frequents 
the  clubs  and  places  of  amusement — an  exceedingly 
well-read  man — prosperous,  genial,  and  at  peace  with 
the  world. 


310  LEONORA   OP   THE   YAWMISII 

Everybody  likes  him,  and  he,  on  experiment,  finds 
that  he  likes  everybody,  although  he  is  known  to  have 
fled  for  years  to  the  wilderness  to  shun  his  kind.  He 
is  attended  by  the  blackest  and  most  courteous  of 
beings,  who  answers  cheerfully  to  the  name  of  Mo 
loch.  His  only  sorrow  is  that  his  daughter  has  so 
many  friends  that  he  sees  less  of  her  than  he  would. 
But  he  finds  a  fund  of  consolation  in  teaching  his 
grandchildren  to  fish. 


THE  END 


BY  MARY  E.  WILKINS 


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